


Test Balloons (or Previews of Unfinished, Never-Before-Posted Stories)

by crushing83



Category: 17th Precinct (pilot), Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies), Sense8 (TV), Shadowhunters (TV), Teen Wolf (TV), various - Fandom
Genre: Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Blue might have kanima or therianthrope dna in her cocktail, Dark Alan Deaton, Derek Tries, Drabbles, Gen, Kira Returns, Magic Stiles, Mutant Spencer Reid, Mutant Stiles, Some characters are only mentioned - Freeform, Spark Stiles, Stiles has a twin brother, Talia had a secret, Untrustworthy Alan Deaton, Warlock Stiles, Werewolf Anthony DiNozzo, but I added notes to every chapter, in progress, looking for feedback, multicrossover, multicrossovers, mutant resistance, not abandoned or orphaned, project overload, ratings may change for the individual stories, scraps from my writing folder, story snippets, tags don't apply to every chapter, works in progress, writing scraps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: My WIP folder is full—and still expanding. Some stories are continuations of series—and I'm going to get back to at least a few of those in the next month—but some are brand new things that I pick at every few days and basically have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going. I thought I'd post some excerpts so you can see that I am working on something (even if I'm not working on your thing). If anyone feels like giving constructive feedback or a "hey, this makes me think that [X] might happen" comment or anything like that, please do! I'm hoping that sharing these projects might shake more loose from my imagination—or that, if something snags your interest, you sharing that with me might inspire me to keep trying to add more.These excerpts are not proofread. Each excerpt will be in its own chapter. In the title of each chapter, I will include the fandom(s), title, and any pairing. In the summary of each chapter, I will include characters, tag-like phrases, notes, and warnings as they may apply. And, if I choose to post more of a particular story, at a later date, I will move the story to its own story/series---and I will try to remember to update this story's chapter here by posting a link to it.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 22





	1. Teen Wolf AU: Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Almost everyone from the Beacon Hills crew, plus Stiles' twin brother, Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood, Clarry Fray, Caolán Longstreet, Jeff Bosson, Morgana Kurlansky, Wilder Blanks, Liam Butterfield, Mira Barkley, Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson, original characters
> 
> Notes: Kind of a mishmash of Teen Wolf and 17th Precinct characters, with a few from Shadowhunters and The Magicians. The story only follows TW events (loosely), so it isn't necessary to know everything about the other shows (I don't, which may reflect in the writing, but, whatever). This also goes back and forth in time, alternating between Stiles' present and his past. (I have 10ish chapters of this one written… it's taken over my free time, off and on this winter.) 
> 
> This story has been written and is being posted [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25072408).
> 
> Warnings: Canon level violence, the pack kicks Stiles out, Derek is a bit of a failwolf, almost everyone lives, Scott isn't bad (but he's not great, either)

_ "Skinwalkers are powerful shapeshifters, and not particularly welcoming to strangers on their land…"  _

Stiles can hear Noshiko's words in his head as he drives his jeep to the end of the invisible path, his eyes scanning the sand and rocks for the beings he seeks. She'd tried to warn him off seeking them out the first time, waiting in the desert for him as if she knew he'd end up there; he couldn't be warned off easily, when the intention is to keep him from the people or resources he needs to protect someone. 

Lilah, the werewolf next to him, has finally stopped vibrating with nerves. Unnatural stillness is almost worse, but after two days of driving and being forced to watch their backs, Stiles will embrace the eerie lack of movement. 

He parks; they wait. He knows Jedda won't make him wait too long. Colba would---because she likes to screw with Stiles on a level that Stiles finds completely unnecessary. But, Jedda… she's on his side as much as a Skinwalker can be. She wouldn't mess him around on this. 

The wind increases in speed and intensity. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief at almost the same time as Lilah starts whining anxiously. 

When the storm passes, Jedda is standing in front of the vehicle, her double-bladed staff in her hand. Stiles grins and waves at her. She smiles and nods her head in response. 

"Let's go," Stiles says, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. "You'll like it here." 

Lilah raises an eyebrow, but she follows his lead, meeting him in front of Jedda. 

"Another stray?" Jedda asks. 

"Yeah, I know," Stiles says. He sighs. "I couldn't… I couldn't leave her behind. The hunters---" 

"Take off her binding and let her speak for herself, Traveller," Jedda interrupts. "I would prefer hearing the truth from her lips." 

After a nod, Stiles puts his hand on Lilah's arm, rubbing off the sigil he'd traced there. The magic in the design had been meant to calm her and block her from the grief that turned her nearly feral. With it rubbed away, Lilah's quiet demeanor fades into a louder, growlier attitude. She tries to push him away, but Stiles is faster and he knocks her on her feet with a punch and a sweep of his leg through hers. 

"We are not doing this again, Lilah," Stiles mutters. "I know it hurts. But, keep your shit together for a few minutes and answer her questions. Please." 

Lilah's eyes flash blue; apart from that, she remains unmoving, slowly relaxing her stance from one of aggression to one of tension. 

"What happened, Lilah?" Jedda asks. 

After swallowing, Lilah says, "Hunters came and slaughtered my family pack. I… I slaughtered them in response. More came." 

Jedda looks at Stiles. Apparently, it is time for him to fill in a few blanks. "I caught up to her before the second wave was in position," he adds. "I know what losing a pack can do. It's her grief---not her." 

With a nod, Jedda accepts his words and dismisses him. He doesn't need to hear the next bit of the conversation--- _ if you decide to meet the challenge, you could win one of two prizes, blah blah, join our ranks or die, blah, blah _ \---because he heard it with Jay, Suki, and Cherry. He backs up, moving to the driver's side of his vehicle and leaning against its navy blue exterior. Taking the time to check his text messages, he sees one from Mira and two from Caolán, nothing that needs an immediate response. 

But, since he has a few minutes… 

To Mira's  _ The ink is ready and will be for five days _ , he sends back  _ I'm almost finished at Shiprock. I'll head to Excelsior next. _

To Caolán's  _ Where are you? _ and  _ You're okay, right? I have a weird feeling… _ , he taps out  _ Dude, I'm fine. I'm at Shiprock. Just finishing up. Will be in town soon… you can watch over me all you'd like. _

He locks his phone and pockets the device in time to see Lilah running off, disappearing into the brush and rock and sand. Jedda is smiling, her free hand on her hip. 

"We will give chase shortly," she says. 

"Thank you, Jedda." 

She nods. "You know, you could join us," she suggests. "You're not the first male we've invited…" 

Stiles reins in his snort. He wouldn't last two minutes in a fight with the Skinwalkers, and they all know it---there is no need to prove that theory. 

"I appreciate the invitation, Jedda," he replies, smiling at her. "Fighting isn't my style. I like my job… trying to protect and keep the peace." 

"You do very well in your vocation," she murmurs. She steps closer and puts her hand on his shoulder. "You are still unbalanced, though, and maybe sparring with us would help you find the area within yourself that needs protecting." 

It would probably help him die more quickly, but he doesn't need to say that out loud. He also already knows where he is weakest---in his heart---and he already has a guide who points out that he needs better balance in his life. He's strong, and he can usually protect himself as he does his job, but facing off against Jedda and her clan is an unnecessary danger. 

"Maybe another time," he says. "I need to get to Excelsior." 

Jedda squeezes his arm as she smiles. "Thank Morgana for me, will you?" she asks. "She helped someone pass on last month." 

Stiles knows better than to ask if the person was family, because the Skinwalkers are apart from the world instead of a part of it. They're supposed to abandon the ties to their lives before their ascendence. Kira hadn't; he'd assumed she is an exception until he started interacting with the clans more regularly. They all have little connections; they all keep secrets, and they know they have these secrets. Stiles figures the attachments are anchors, but he never asks for specifics. He respects their privacy, not asking details unless he is invited to ask for more information. Everyone has secrets;  not everyone wants to share those secrets.

"I will," he promises. "You'll take care of Lilah?" 

"Of course," Jedda says as she releases her hold on him. "Drive safe, Traveller." 

Stiles smiles at her, nods, and pushes himself off of his jeep's door. His job is finished; he got the werewolf to the Skinwalkers for training and protection and a mission that would go over a lot better than an attempt to exterminate any and all hunters. 

#####

_ "Where are you going?"  _

_ Stiles paused in tugging on his hooded sweatshirt to look at Feliks, Danny, and Jackson. They were playing video games in the middle of what looked like the aftermath of a tornado, considering the cushions, soda cans, and popcorn pieces strewn over most surfaces. He'd cleaned the living room two days ago; it was already a mess again.  _

_ He bit back the sigh and reprimand---because Feliks  _ never _ listened to him. Instead, he said, "Going to Scott's."  _

_ "You dorks have fun being boring," Jackson muttered under his breath, oblivious to Danny rolling his eyes.  _

_ Feliks nudged Jackson with his elbow before focusing again on Stiles. "Leave Scott alone," he said. "He wants to make first line this year."  _

_ Stiles frowned. "And what? I'm holding him back with my suckage?"  _

_ "Hey, maybe that's it…"  _

_ Feliks ignored Jackson's muttered comment. He shrugged. "No, but a good night's sleep would help him more than anything you two will get up tonight," he explained. He shrugged again. "Maybe you'd do better at try-outs, too, if you stayed in and rested up for tomorrow."  _

_ "Maybe I don't want to be first line," Stiles said.  _

_ "Everyone wants to be first line," Jackson said, snorting and shaking his head as if he couldn't believe Stiles didn't want to be good at lacrosse.  _

_ Lacrosse was Feliks' thing, Scott's thing, Jackson's thing… hell, it was Danny's thing, too. Stiles couldn't care less about the sport; he only started playing because his dad had encouraged (pressured) him to join the team.  _

_ "Seriously? How are you two twins? You're nothing alike."  _

_ Danny rolled his eyes. "They're not clones, Jax," he said. "They're allowed to like different things."  _

_ Stiles would have smiled at Danny for that, but they were distracted and he saw a chance to escape. He and Scott were going to go find a dead body!  _

#####

Before arriving at his final destination, Stiles decides to pull into a truck stop so he can shower and change his clothes. Lilah had been near feral, even with his magic written on her skin, so stopping for the night hadn't seemed like a great idea; his clothes are damp and almost sour thanks to sweat from the desert and journey, and he wants to wash the sand from every crack and crevice in his body.

He buys a bottle of water and meanders to the back of the rest station, where the full bathrooms are located. He can smell burgers and fries coming from the built-in restaurant; a big meal wasn't in his plan, but with the way his stomach grumbles, he thinks he might have to change that plan. 

It's not until the bathroom door is locked---in both mundane and magical ways---that Stiles feels comfortable enough to start undressing. Once his knives and their sheaths are removed and placed on the counter, he peels out of his grubby clothes. He has one clean t-shirt left, and his second pair of jeans have a little mistletoe jelly crusted on one of the legs (but that's better than sand, so he'll wear them). He really hopes someone in Excelsior will let him do a load of laundry; he doesn't want to waste a day hanging around a public laundromat. 

Stiles smoothes his hands over his arms, legs, neck, and back, looking for wounds. His right shoulder hurts from being slammed into a tree trunk, but there is no external wound. His knuckles are a little scraped; they're always a little scraped. The tattoos all over his body hide most of his scars and bruises. An ice pack for his bum knee wouldn't be unappreciated, but there isn't anything that needs immediate medical attention. 

He sends a text to John--- _ Still alive. Job finished. Heading to X and then the apartment, so no work for a few days. Love you. Hope you're okay. _ \---before he hops into the shower. Staying in contact was their deal when he left Beacon Hills; it became a tradition, something to make sure he doesn't lose complete contact with his family. His brother isn't an option, after everything between them, but John is as neutral as he can be between his twin sons. Stiles never doubts that his father loves him; he may doubt that Feliks cares about him, at all, but he never has doubts about John. 

He scrubs with his scent-free soap, using his short nails to scratch over his head and through his hair and anywhere else he itches. He scrubs until his skin tingles. It's not a nap or exercise, but it's a little invigorating. Hopefully, between a thorough cleanse and a tasty meal, he'll wake up enough to finish the drive. 

To the mundane world, Excelsior is a neighbourhood in San Francisco. To the supernatural world, it is still that---but it's also a lot more. Magic users have built a sort of secret world in and around and behind a few city blocks. According to Mira, the neighbourhood had been larger, stretching as far as Hunter's Point; then, a group of hunters settled there, and the magic users pulled back until they were in a more protected and defensible location. In the following years, the community became a sort of safe haven---neutral territory enforced by sanctuary spells, as well as a sort of magical guard that keeps watch in teams around the area---and a place for learning and living. 

Stiles doesn't live there. It might be easy to settle, to put down roots, but that would mean a permanent address, utility bills, and routines. He can be found if he settles. 

He isn't an idiot. He knows the pack never looked for him. They were the ones that pushed him to leave Beacon Hills. If it weren't for Feliks, the pack would surely think he's dead---but Feliks  _ is _ in their ranks, so they probably all know he's alive and out there somewhere. They don't care. But, in case they (or any of his enemies) ever do decide to find him, he keeps moving because he doesn't want that reunion. 

Also, Excelsior is a little too close to Beacon Hills for his liking. He doesn't think any of the pack would venture into the neighbourhood, if they were in the city for school or shopping, but he also doesn't want to risk it. That bridge is burned to a crisp; he wants to avoid any awkward encounters. He moves all around the country, choosing (hopefully furnished) sublets as he moves from town to town, because there's always someone looking for another someone to finish out their lease. It lets him stay under the radar---keeping  _ Stiles _ off of the werewolves' radar, as well as keeping someone from tracking down his new identity---and it lets him travel around the continent to help protect the people and beings who needed protection. 

There are times when he'd like to put down roots… 

But, then, he remembers that he had roots, and they were forcibly pulled up without his permission. 

He made it work. He continues to make it work. 

Screw them. 

Stiles tips his head forward as the hot water rains down on his neck and back. 

He knows Beacon Hills is a part of the lack of balance Mira keeps suggesting he fix. His dad still lives there, still works there (even though Stiles has begged him to retire almost every year since he left), and his brother is a part of the local pack. He can't move past Beacon Hills because a part of his life is still there. 

With a sigh, Stiles turns off the water and steps out of the shower. His flip flops leave wet splotches all over the floor, with every step he takes, but he doesn't care. He'll clean the room of any trace of him---wet shoe prints included. He knows all too well how even a stray hair can be used against someone in a spell; he won't let that happen to him. 

A reply from John--- _ just heading into work. glad you're okay. where to next? love you. _ \---is waiting for him when he pauses at the counter, wrapping his towel around his waist. He smiles, tracing over the message on the screen with one damp fingertip. He can imagine his father, in his uniform and with his morning coffee; he can imagine him leaving the house and he hopes his footfalls are light and unburdened. 

_ Eat a salad for lunch, ok? ;) <3 _

Text message sent back, Stiles focuses on dressing and preparing to get back on the road. 

#####

_ With Scott's surprising and uncharacteristically murderous impulses under control again, thanks to Derek, he went off in search of Allison---proving the point Stiles tried to make before Scott lost control. He hadn't seemed too concerned about the bruises and scratches on Stiles' body; he hadn't even asked if Stiles were hurt.  _

_ Stiles closed his eyes, pressing his hand into the scrape over his collarbone. He didn't know why he was surprised; as soon as Allison started paying attention to him, Scott's priorities completely shifted, even more than they should have when he was bitten. Whatever Stiles needed stopped mattering, because Scott was a werewolf, he was on first line with Jackson and Feliks, he had a girlfriend, and his life was awesome.  _

_ "Ugh," he groaned, trying to force himself onto another line of thought.  _

_ "Stiles."  _

_ He rubbed his nose against his shoulder before looking up into Derek's face---but Derek was crouched in front of him with a wet cloth in his hands.  _

_ "Let's clean you up," Derek said, easing Stiles' hand down from his injury.  _

_ "I can---"  _

_ Derek interrupted, his voice still quiet. "It's okay. I don't mind."  _

_ "I can do it," he insisted.  _

_ After a slow nod, Derek said, "You don't have to, okay?" _

_ Stiles nodded, too, and Derek took that as permission to inspect the wound. It stung, but Stiles could feel his fingers and he didn't feel any worse than he would after Jackson shoved him into a set of lockers, so he figured it wasn't too bad.  _

_ Derek confirmed that. "Looks like he only got you a little. Peroxide in the bathroom?"  _

_ "Uh… yeah. In the cupboard under the sink," Stiles replied. "Bandages are in the second drawer."  _

_ He patted Stiles' knee once (and very awkwardly) before disappearing into the other room. Stiles closed his eyes again, trying to block out the thoughts that tormented him every time Derek was too close. His fear and arousal processes must have had wires crossed somewhere; it was the only way to explain what he felt whenever Derek crossed his radar.  _

_ When Derek reappeared, with a pile of first aid supplies, Stiles resigned himself to being fussed over like a child would be. Derek didn't scold him, though, much to Stiles' surprise; instead, he worked quietly and carefully, to patch up Stiles' nicks and scratches.  _

_ "Do you have a hot water bottle?" Derek asked.  _

_ "A magic bag, I think."  _

_ Derek gestured to his door. "Kitchen?"  _

_ "Yes… why?"  _

_ Derek touched his shirt, over his chest. "You got thumped pretty hard. Scott wasn't thinking clearly," he said. "Heat would help with healing."  _

_ It didn't make sense. Stiles wasn't  _ other, _ he didn't deserve Derek's protection---and Derek made that point clearly on his own, shoving him into walls and threatening the state of his throat. But, he couldn't push Derek away; it had been a while since someone willingly took care of him and he was just selfish enough to hang onto that for a few more minutes.  _

#####

His current apartment is in Baker City, Oregon---he couldn't resist proximity to the actual Oregon Trail, okay?---but he isn't going to get there for another few days. A detour to Excelsior is first on his schedule; at the end of his drive, already inside of San Francisco's city limits, he still can't decide if the detour is a good or bad thing. 

It's a good thing when he walks into his favourite bar. 

It's a bad thing when he sees Morgana, Wilder, Liam, and Magnus sitting in the booth Stiles had been hoping to use as a hiding place. 

Morgana grins, her smile wide and so toothy that it almost seems predatory. In contrast, Wilder bows his head slightly as he salutes Stiles with his glass of what is probably bourbon. 

Liam gives him a nod, too. Where Wilder's nod is practically a hug (because the man is not demonstrative  _ at all _ ), Liam's is more of a display of his reserve. They don't know each other very well and he keeps to himself; Stiles understands that all too well and figures, if they're meant to be friends, they'll get there in their own time. 

Magnus… 

The magic user---or warlock, as he prefers to be called---stands up and struts across the floor, a smirk curving his lips. 

"Darling… you've returned to us," he purrs. "Finally. Things were getting dull without you here." 

Stiles snorts. "Better not let Alec hear you say that," he says. 

Magnus' smirk sharpens as he closes the gap between them. He pulls Stiles into a hug, snuggling him close; the contact with another magic user is grounding and stabilising, and Stiles can feel his body relax. 

"You are on our  _ very _ short list," Magnus whispers in his ear. "Just say the word and we'll treat you amazingly well. You haven't known satisfaction until you've lain with us." 

Stiles knows he's blushing, but he doesn't care. No one can see his complexion change in the dimly lit bar---and Magnus is only saying those things to get a reaction out of him. 

Magnus pulls back and studies him. "Or, perhaps, you'd just like to sleep between us," he says. He frowns a little. "You look exhausted, James. What was it this time?" 

"Hunters versus werewolf," Stiles replies. 

"Your usual, then." 

Stiles nods. "Yep." 

"Well, let's get you a drink," Magnus says. "The famous Jimmy Travers has returned to Excelsior, and I declare we celebrate!" 

And celebrate, they did. 

At first, it is just the five of them, but then Caolán and Jeff arrive, and Mira appears an hour after they'd settled in with their second rounds. Drinks and food cover the two booths they commandeered; Stiles gorges himself on wings and fries and soda until he feels warm and heavy, until the smile on his face feels more real than false. 

Caolán puts his spare key in Stiles' palm when Margo and Eliot arrive. Stiles laughs softly; he adores the twosome as much as he does any of the others he has befriended in Excelsior, but they are over-the-top exuberant and he isn't sure he's in the mood for that level of excitement. 

"I made up the guest room," Caolán says. "Make yourself at home." 

Mira puts her hand on the table between them. "How long are you staying?" she asks. "Will you have time to stop by the Institute before you disappear again?" 

The Ink Institute is Magnus' Alec's business. There are plenty of tattoo parlors in San Francisco, but any magic user who relies on tattoos to bolster or focus their powers knows that Alec and his partner, Clary, are the best in the region---if not the continent. All of Stiles' tattoos, except for the first one, done long before he stumbled into Excelsior, are Alec's work. 

Stiles nods. "I'm here to catch up, find my next job, and get inked." 

After an assessing look, Mira smiles. "Tomorrow morning then," she decides. "I'll tell Alec. He already booked the chair for you." 

"Good… thanks," Stiles says. 

He's been itching to get the spirit animal tattoo---something he hopes will help him in his work---for a while now; it will either be that or another set of protection runes designed into a sigil of some sort. Mira knows about his goals and aims, but she always has a plan. As his most recent, and favourite, teacher, he trusts that her plan will bring him closer to his goals even if he can't see how everything falls in line on his first attempt to try to make sense of her advice. 

"I need to stock up on supplies, too," Stiles adds. "Running low on mistletoe and rowan ash." 

"Wolfsbane, too?" Mira asks. 

"No, I still have a little of every variety," he replies. "I'm good there. It's the trapping that uses a lot of resources." 

She nods. "We can stop by the shop after you're done---if you're not too buzzed." 

Stiles laughs at that. The last time Mira joined him for an inking session, he'd had the design over his spine added to his collection. He'd left the shop a little high from the experience, the pain and power combining to give him a bit of a high, and Mira and Wilder had a rough time trying to take care of him. To repay him, they'd recorded video of his most interesting antics and threatened to share the videos with some of the other people in their group. 

He learned to at least  _ try _ to behave. 

Caolán taps the table. "I might have something---a job," he says. 

"Oh yeah?" 

"Not werewolves," he adds. 

"I don't discriminate." 

"Neither do these guys," Caolán says. "Hunters. They killed a coven in Northern Mexico---" 

"That's  Calaveras territory," Stiles interrupts. "There are treaties with them, too." 

Caolán nods. "I know. They actually contacted Jeff through one of his regular potion clients. These guys… there was a lot of carnage and a lot of attention. We don't know anything about them," he says. "I tried to track them, but it didn't work. I think I was more worried about you than the hunters because the spell landed on an area twenty miles outside of Shiprock." 

"Maybe they were after me," Stiles suggests. 

"You have anti-tracking sigils on your car, still, right?" Caolán asks. 

"Yeah… but, they could have a magic user, too," Stiles reasons. 

Through narrowed eyes, Mira asks, "Did you notice anyone following you?" 

Stiles shakes his head. "No… the trip here was uneventful." 

"It was probably my spell," Caolán admits. "I've been off lately." 

"He's been pining," Mira says. "Suze is still visiting her family in Maine." 

Stiles smiles and leans into Caolán's side. "The heart wants what it wants," he says, remembering his own pangs and pains in that department. "She's the one, huh?" 

Caolán's ears turn pink. "I… yeah." 

"Well. The spirit animal spell and ink will give you another way to help protect yourself," Mira says, moving past Caolán's love life. There isn't much she and Stiles can do about that; Caolán needs to settle his mind and heart and learn how to continue to ground himself in the face of his feelings. "If you don't mind Clary working on you at the same time, she could put another stealth symbol on you." 

Bringing his hand up to his neck, where Alec's concealment sigil was embedded in his skin, Stiles shrugs. "This one works," he says. 

"Humour me. Something for sound and smell." 

Stiles frowns, looking from Caolán to Mira. "Are you seriously worried?" 

"I've been worrying about you since you showed up in Excelsior that first time," Mira admits, her nose wrinkling as she smiles. "Your red hoodie in tatters, baseball bat in one hand, and some sort of towel in your other, pressed into your side---" 

"I just saved the day---and Eliot, if I remember correctly," Stiles mutters, a smile shining through his grumpy face. "And then I got shouted at by Alec  _ and _ Margo. What a scene." 

"It was a memorable introduction," Caolán says, chuckling a little. 

He looks out over the bar's dancefloor, where Eliot, Margo, and Magnus are dancing in the middle of a crowd of mundanes and magic users. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves; he is both happy for them and jealous of them. He doesn't remember ever fitting in with a group of people. He'd had Scott, at one point, before werewolves and the supernatural, but he'd never felt  _ at ease _ with Scott in the way he sees these people let go of their defences and just be who they are. 

"Time to go?" Mira asks. 

Stiles sighs. "Yeah… it's been a long few days," he says. 

She nods. "The days will continue to be long if you keep up all the walls between the facets of  _ you _ ." 

"Oh, geez, here we go," Caolán mutters.

Stiles sniggers and nudges one of Caolán's knees with one of his. 

Mira levels a glare at both of them, so stern that it could quell even the most unruly schoolboy. Caolán tries and almost succeeds in stifling his humour, but Stiles' sense of self-preservation has never been particularly strong and he keeps laughing---spurning Caolán into a few more little laughs. 

"You are out of balance, and I know you think it's a joke---both of you---but you could really do with some soul-searching and some issue resolution," Mira says. "You're strong---again, both of you---but until you get to the heart of your issues, you'll have trouble with consistency and balance." 

"I know what my problems are, and there's no way to resolve them," Stiles says. 

Caolán frowns. "And I'm still taking those meditation classes," he admits. 

"You should take James with you---" 

"Hey!" Stiles squawked. "I already said I know what my problems are." 

She smiles a little. "Maybe sitting quietly would help you work out a way to fix them." 

He shakes his head. "No… no. Sitting quietly is a disaster." He raises his hands, letting them tremble. "Idle hands, and all that…" 

Mira snorts. "James. You need to do something." 

"I'm not going to go ho---there," he says, frowning at his glass of soda as if it were responsible for him almost sharing all of his secrets. "What happened can't be resolved to my liking." 

"It's not about being resolved to your liking," she insists. "It's about a resolution, period. You can learn to make peace and move on from that---" 

"There was a resolution," Stiles insists, remembering how Feliks and Scott looked at him before he turned and walked away from the pack. He winces, steals Caolán's beer, and takes a long pull from the bottle. After swallowing, he says, "And I've made my peace with it." 

Caolán's forehead crinkles. "Then, why is your aura all…" he trails off as he waves his hand around. 

"Wishy-washy?" Stiles asks in a more light and playful tone of voice. "I have a wishy-washy aura? Uh oh. That can't be good." 

Caolán rolls his eyes. "Not 'wishy-washy,'" he says, a hint of laughter in his voice. "But, there are gaps, where it's faded a little?" 

Humour leeches from Stiles' face as he processes Caolán's words. "Gaps? That sounds bad," he says. "Why didn't you tell me I'm broken?" 

"You're not  _ broken _ ," Caolán assures him. "Overall, your aura's bright. The colours are dark, but you're bright. There are just places… where it's a little translucent, when I try to look closely. I don't know enough about auras to know what it means." 

"Sounds like something's missing," Mira comments. 

Stiles sighs. Of course, Feliks and the pack would be responsible for holes in his aura. That is just his luck. 

#####

_ Stiles hung his head into his gym locker and tried to remember to breathe. The smell of his locker wasn't ideal---but it was strong enough to chase the memory of the whisky's scent from his mind, and that helped keep the need to heave at bay.  _

_ Fuck Feliks and his need to know things that aren't his to know.  _

_ He was smart enough to figure out that he and Scott had some sort of secret. It wasn't like Stiles was particularly adept at subterfuge---he would have to get better at that, going forward---and Feliks knew the signs of lying on his own face well enough to recognise them on Stiles' face.  _

_ What appeared to be a brotherly bonding moment over a pilfered bottle of booze was really an interrogation. Stiles held his own, mostly by holding his jaw so tightly shut that his muscles clenched and cramped, and he silently swore he'd never forgive Feliks for getting him drunk and then asking him all sorts of questions as he tried to zero in on whatever had Scott's and Stiles' attention.  _

_ "You good?" Scott asked.  _

_ Stiles glared at him. "My brother got me stupid drunk and then proceeded to interrogate me… trying to figure out your secret."  _

_ Scott's eyebrows slanted up, furrowing a little in the middle. "I… really? Maybe he's just trying to bro bond?" he suggested.  _

_ "You weren't there."  _

_ "Were you? I mean… you're pretty hungover," Scott commented. He wrinkled his nose. "You reek."  _

_ "Thanks."  _

_ With a groan, Stiles moved enough to catch the back of his shirt in his hand. He tugged and pulled it over his head---and then frowned as Scott smothered a little laugh.  _

_ "What?"  _

_ "There's a… Feliks…"  _

_ Before Scott could explain  _ at all _ , Jackson laughed and kicked Stiles in the back of his right knee. Stiles flailed, missed the locker door, and fell in a limp slump onto the floor.  _

_ "Get some last night, Bilinski?" Jackson asked. "Seems like you did it wrong."  _

_ Stiles frowned. But, he didn't protest when Danny pushed Scott aside and helped him rise to his feet. He caught the look Danny levelled at Jackson; he caught the way Jackson crumbled and turned away from them. He didn't understand and he understood even less when Danny guided him towards the other side of the locker room.  _

_ "C'mon," Danny said. "I think Feliks was having a bit of fun. I have some nail polish remover and we can take that off, no problem. Sadly, there's no cure for Jackson."  _

_ Stiles snorted, rubbing a hand over his face, and faced reality. "You don't have to apologise for him. I know he's your best friend," he muttered.  _

_ "He should know better. I've told him before," Danny said. "Besides, you're my team mate, too."  _

_ "What did he draw on me?" Stiles asked.  _

_ Danny grimaced. "A pretty terrible rendition of what I  _ think _ is a dick?" he replied. "Your brother doesn't have a good understanding of his own anatomy… could be some sort of space alien, I guess. But the balls are a big giveaway." _

_ "Well. Guess he can scratch 'artist' off his list of many, many career prospects," Stiles said, trying to make light of a weird and upsetting situation.  _

_ Before he pulled the solvent and tissues out of his locker, Danny offered him a small smile in response.  _

##### 

"Almost done the protection and stealth runes," Alec says. Each word brushes his bare skin, teasing his belly as Alec puts his work on his side. "Do you want to see Clary's design? I have more than enough time today to do it." 

Stiles closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe as he thinks about the rune work and what it represents. He thinks words like _safety, vigilance, deflection, disguise,_ and _protect_ as Alec's needles pierce and colour his flesh; he feels the magic in the ink swirling with his own innate abilities and he is certain that it's working, despite the distraction of Alec's proximity and the memory of Magnus' words. 

"Focus, James." 

"Trying," Stiles croaks. "And yes, if there's time. Should do it today. Don't know when I'll be back again." 

Alec sighs. "That's a shame. Magnus is hosting one of his parties next week. I was hoping for some company." 

Stiles opens one eye to peer at Alec through his lashes. "Like Magnus will let you out of his sight---" 

"That's the plan," Alec interrupts, smirking up at him. 

He groans and turns his head away from the sight. "You two are determined to kill me," he mutters. "Why now?" 

"Maybe, we just enjoy taking care of the people we care about---in whatever way we think they need," Alec murmurs as he returns his focus to his work. 

"And you think I need a serious dose of sexing up?" Stiles asks. 

Alec shakes his head. "No, we think you need comfort and physical closeness," he says in a soft voice. "Think about it, okay? No one needs to know you're human, if that's what you're worried about. Even if you just need a place to hide and regroup, our door is always open to you." 

Stiles nods. It's the best offer he's received in a very long time, and he knows he'd be a fool to turn it down. 

With another smile, Alec smooths his gloved hand over his work. "Now, focus. I'm about to start the binding on the runes," he instructs. 

"Yes, sir," Stiles mutters. 

At Alec's soft groan, Stiles smirks to himself and closes his eyes. He could be quick and stealthy, but there is more to protection magic than that; he's still human, with squishy human parts, and he's aiming to keep his inside his body for as long as possible. He already has a few tattoos storing magical strength for additional speed and for an illusion or glamour to help avoid detection. Alec and a few of the other guards around the neighbourhood wear similar runes; Stiles would have gotten them sooner, if he hadn't been more concerned with focus and endurance and other skills that have become useful in his line of work. 

He pictures situations where the runes could be helpful; he pictures how he wants his magic to work. He feeds bits of his strength and power into the wounds, letting the artwork absorb and contain it. 

When Alec finishes, Stiles feels something  _ snap!  _ inside of him. Whether it's a completion of a circuit or the sealing of his magic, he isn't sure; he just knows that the intentions behind the tattoos has been set in his skin and will be solidified once the area has healed. 

"How are you feeling?" Alec asks. 

"Mmm… I'm fine." 

Alec smiles and passes him a bottle of water---carbonated, with a thin sheen of moisture along its glass surface. "Drink this. Relax," he advises. "I'm going to give it a moment while I go get Clary's design for the spirit animal tattoo. Then, we'll figure out where your animal will be located. Sound good?" 

Stiles brings the water bottle's opening to his lips after a quick nod of approval. Alec pats and squeezes his knee before he gets up and walks towards the door. 

Mira usually stays with him, but Alec had said something to her and she told him she'd go stock up on supplies for him and be back later. As he groans and stretches out his legs, he realises it's probably for the best that he doesn't have an audience. Something about magical tattoos really gets his blood pumping. Alec usually ignores his body's reactions, but the offer he made… well, that hadn't been ignoring his physical response. 

He groans again as he thinks about Alec's offer. He's a red-blooded, pansexual man; he enjoys physical contact with people who pique his interest and Alec and Magnus are a very attractive couple who flirt or tempt him every chance they get. He might be trying to adhere to celibate practices to keep himself from being hurt, either physically or emotionally, but he is still a human who experiences physical and romantic attraction. 

As he thinks about the people who have stolen places in his heart, he winces and closes his eyes. It is better---safer---for him if he keeps his feelings to himself, giving in to physical needs only when he absolutely has to and never with someone who knows him, but the idea of being with two people who know him (even if they don't know his actual name) sets his heart to aching. Even if they only share platonic intimacy, it would still be more than he's had in a long, long time. 

When Alec comes back, with a few sheets of paper, Stiles forces his mind to the subject of his next magical tattoo. Clary's and Alec's work is exceptional, and it deserves his full attention. 

"Okay. She had a few different feelings when she was working on this for you," Alec says. He settles down on his stool and holds up the first piece of paper. "First, she had a vibe on the otter. It's known for faithfulness, friendliness, and being helpful to others---which lines up with what I know of you. And they're helpful when doing complex magic." 

Stiles nods. He likes the drawing of the river otter; he isn't sure how friendly he is, but it is a fierce little animal that resonates with him. 

"I like it," he says. "What else?"

Alec holds up a fox. Before he could say anything, Stiles shakes his head. 

"No, no foxes," Stiles says. 

Frowning, Alec asks, "Really?" 

"I was possessed by a nogitsune when I was a teenager," Stiles admits. "I don't want a magic fox." 

Alec's eyes widen. "Shit… Jimmy…"

"It's fine. I'm mostly over it. I guess there's some sort of smudge left on my soul… that must have been what Clary picked up on," Stiles says as he rubs his hands over his bare arms and chest. 

"She said it was for perception and cunning---which we both agree apply to you," Alec says. 

Stiles shrugs. "I'd rather not… I mean, it just reminds me…" 

"I get it," Alec says. He pats Stiles knee, before leaving his hand there. "You don't need to explain it to me. I know things can go wrong. We all have bad experiences under our skin." 

"I didn't even know I could do magic when it happened," Stiles whispers. "He locked me in my mind and did horrible things." 

Alec's hand squeezes, but he doesn't say anything. Stiles isn't sure if there is anything anyone could say. He made peace with the damage he wrought, but the memories still hurt. 

"Okay. No fox," Alec says. "What about a wolf?" 

Stiles looks at the drawing of a solid dark wolf and a moon and clouds to hide the rune work, and he snorts. 

"Clary's perception is insane," Stiles mutters. "How does she know? What does she know about me?" 

Frowning, Alec looks from Stiles to the drawing and back to Stiles. 

Stiles sighs. "I used to be a part of a pack," he says. "Before and after the possession thing. My best friend was bitten. Things… happened. I thought… I could help. I tried. But, when I graduated from high school, they told me I should leave." 

It is the most he has ever told anyone in Excelsior about his past. It feels safe, with Alec in the small room with its closed door, and he trusts Alec to keep his secrets between them (and probably Magnus, who Stiles knows will understand his reasons for secrecy). 

"I figured you had some sort of connection to a werewolf," Alec says. "You always take on pack disputes or situations where hunters overstep. It made sense, y'know?" 

Stiles nods. 

"Do they know what you do?" Alec asks. 

"I haven't talked to anyone from home except for my dad in years," Stiles replies. "I haven't been home since I left." 

"So, this is what Mira keeps talking about…"

Stiles nods again. "Probably. I'm all out of family balance." 

Alec looks at the drawings, back and forth from the otter to the wolf. The fox never makes another appearance, for which Stiles is grateful. 

"There's stuff about the wolf that vibes with you, too," Alec says in a quiet, contemplative voice. "Loyalty, a hunger for knowledge… perseverance…" 

"How do we choose?" Stiles asks. 

"She told me it would be a feeling," Alec says, snorting. 

_ A feeling?! _

Stiles snorts again, too, before he closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. "If I put a wolf on my body… it will be like I lost twice. Getting marked and shunned at the same time," he mutters. 

"What if it's about the werewolves you've saved over the years?" Alec asks.

"I… I didn't think of that," Stiles admits. "It could." 

A bang on the door startles both of them. Stiles flinches; Alec yelps and jumps up, knocking over his stool in the process. They look at each other and laugh---with their experiences behind them, really, they should be braver than that. 

When Alec opens the door, Clary bounces into the room. 

"You're both idiots," she declares. 

Before she turns and leaves, she pushes a piece of paper into Alec's chest. 

Alec looks down at it and smiles. "You're a brilliant artist, Clary!" he calls out to her back. 

"I know!" she shouts in response. 

He closes the door, still looking down at the drawing. After shuffling towards Stiles, he turns the paper around and shows Stiles what Clary brought them. A wolf, standing at the edge of a river, an otter between his front paws, and the full moon and a starry night behind them both. There is room for the magic sigils Stiles would need in both the moon and the water; he knows Alec could figure it out because he'd figured out more difficult patterns on Stiles' skin. 

"An otter for you, a wolf for your work?" Alec suggests. 

"What's it going to cost me to have two, power-wise?" Stiles asks. 

"You're not calling on two beings, bringing them into existence," Alec explains. He sets the drawing down on Stiles' lap. "It's… it's more like borrowing their abilities. Or asking them for guidance. I have a hawk and a hare." 

Stiles looks at the drawing again. It's beautiful. He prefers Alec's work---it's usually solid and sharp and has a vibe that resonates in Stiles' soul---but Clary is an exceptional artist, too. Her portfolio is littered with mundane tattoos, mainly freehand portrait work; her magical tattoos are often based in feelings, instead of purpose, though, so Stiles usually opts for Alec's utilitarian work. 

A spirit animal is something different, though. There is purpose, but the magic is more of a sympathetic bond, for a lack of a better way to describe it. Stiles sees his other tattoos as booster items in a video game; the spirit animal tattoo isn't something he can pick up and put down, something less tangible but just as helpful. 

"Okay," Stiles agrees. "Let's do it." 

Alec grins. "Yeah?"

When Stiles nods, Alec nods, too. 

"Cool. Lemme go tweak it and put it on a transfer sheet and get the supplies we'll need," Alec says. "Take your pants off and get comfy. I'll bring you a snack, too." 

Stiles nods. He knows he'll need extra energy, of the caloric variety, if he is unable to rest, and Alec knows that, too. Magic may be, well, magic, but some mundane laws of physics still apply. To spend energy, one needs to have energy. 

When Alec leaves him alone, Stiles pulls out his phone and checks his messages. Magnus sent him an email to Jimmy's account. After a flirtatious opening, he provided Stiles with contact information for a potential paying job: a pack territory dispute in British Columbia---near the northern border of the province. 

He could take Caolán's job and venture closer to bad memories, or he could go with Magnus' offer. 

Hopefully it won't be too cold that far north. 

#####

_ After giving Derek the information for which he asked, he slipped out the window with a whispered "Merry Christmas, Stiles." Stiles replied with his own very similar words; even if it looked like Derek was gone, he suspected Derek would still be able to hear him.  _

_ He didn't like that Derek didn't have a place to go for the holiday. It didn't seem right. He'd lost so much, and Scott refused to spend anymore time with him than was necessary… nothing Stiles could say or do would fix the rift between them. Stiles had been suspicious of Derek in the beginning, but he'd changed his mind and decided Derek was dealing with a shitty, shitty hand if life were a card game. Scott didn't care; he hated Derek and would probably never change his mind.  _

_ But, Stiles watched when no one thought he was paying attention. He saw the way Derek tried to protect people---even if he wasn't quite getting the job done. He saw the way Derek held himself apart from everyone. He saw the way Derek flinched.  _

_ So, when Derek went to him for help, the first time since those observations and the realisations that followed, Stiles helped without complaint. It was as much of an apology and olive branch he could give without doing something completely awkward like saying the words.  _

_ A lot of the help was mundane---finding a lawyer, who to go to about getting his family's property back, apartment hunting, buying first aid course materials from which he could learn, and so on---but some of the help was supernatural, too. Stiles looked up information on faeries, territory warding, and druidic practices; he searched for creatures Derek encountered within the county. He didn't care which type of research it was; he valued feeling useful and he valued helping Derek.  _

_ On a sigh, Stiles left the room. The window was still open, which would help chase the scent of Derek out of the room, and he left his door open. Melissa and his dad were cooking turkey and all the fixings in the kitchen; the smells of cooking would waft upstairs, too, and help cover his secret visitor.  _

_ He jogged down the stairs, one hand brushing the wall and the other hand brushing the railing, and he bounced into the living room. Scott and Feliks didn't look away from their game; Feliks might have given Stiles the game,  _ L.A. Noire _ , but Stiles hadn't been able to play it yet. He watched them and wondered if that was how he and Scott looked when they were together. The most insecure and anxious part of his brain wondered if Feliks was trying to replace him completely.  _

_ "I don't know what I'm gonna do, Mel."  _

_ Stiles turned when he heard his father talking. He walked quietly towards the kitchen. Peeking inside, he saw them standing at the sink. Melissa's hand was on John's shoulder.  _

_ "Well… it's been a while, maybe moving out of the house would be okay with them," she murmured. "They have memories of Claudia… the photographs and letters. She's more than walls and windows. She's in all of you."  _

_ "She always said this place would protect us," John said. "I mean, it's just romantic, magical thinking, but---"  _

_ Stiles turned and raced back to his room. He didn't want to hear anything else---he didn't care if anyone heard him running away. He couldn't be there anymore, listening to his brother with his best friend playing games while his father contemplated selling their house. The house was all he had of his mother; he could still see her dancing in the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen windows, he could still hear her singing in the noise of the dryer, and he could still feel her in the touch of their garden's flowers. Feliks had her jeep---he barely ever let Stiles drive it---and he had a bracelet of hers, but Stiles didn't have anything like that except for his memories and the few photographs of the two of them together. The house was his memorial. He couldn't lose it---or her.  _

_ Even though it was Christmas, Stiles looked around at the walls of his bedroom and felt as if they were closing in on him. He grabbed his hooded sweatshirt and jammed his feet into his sneakers; much like Derek had a few moments ago, but with far less grace, Stiles shimmied out through the window and slipped down the nearby tree. He may have fallen---he didn't have an audience so he didn't care---and he simply dusted off his ass and legs before rushing off into the shadows.  _

_ He didn't stop running until he reached the cemetery. A sweaty, heaving, trembling mess, Stiles collapsed in front of his mother's headstone.  _

_ "H-hey, Mom," he wheezed. "Man, I need to run more."  _

_ There was a lot he wanted to say--- _ I miss you; you were the glue that holds us together; please stop Dad from selling the house, somehow; and so on--- _ but he didn't have the heart to say the words.  _

_ In front of her grave, he could imagine her face… and he wanted to imagine her smiling instead of frowning. _

_ He stared until he heard footsteps behind him. On a flinch, he turned; he relaxed when he saw Derek walking towards him.  _

_ "Dad's thinking about selling the house," Stiles admitted. "I… freaked out."  _

_ Derek's hand was a brief but solid weight on his shoulder. "I get it," he replied.  _

_ "Yeah," Stiles whispered.  _

_ "Stay as long as you need," Derek said. "I'll drive you back."  _

_ Stiles leaned into him, a brief press of their shoulders (or Stiles' shoulder to Derek's arm), and nodded. "Thank you," he replied.  _

_ "Want me to give you some space?"  _

_ After shaking his head, Stiles said, "Nah. You can stay."  _

#####

Even though he wants to stay in Excelsior, he knows he has to prepare for the next job. No hunters are involved; generally, that makes it easier, but it also means he needs to brush up on pack laws and traditions. 

Magnus and Alec hadn't let him leave without a group dinner, though. They hosted everyone from their social circle---including Margo and Eliot---for a casual meal of sushi and ramen at their loft-like apartment. Thankfully, Alec and Magnus had been on their best behaviour; they only flirted with Stiles, or Jimmy, the way they always did, and neither of them mentioned the offers made. 

It had been a good time, and a great send-off. In the morning, Caolán walked him to his car where Mira was waiting with his supplies of mountain ash and mistletoe. They talked a bit, before he and Caolán hugged and before Mira gave him a warning to find the balance she thinks he's missing. 

After all of that, he leaves for Oregon. 

He reaches Baker City twelve hours and five cups of gas station coffee later (thanks to construction and traffic and his body's exhaustion). He texts Magnus, Alec, Mira, and Caolán, letting them know he arrived, and he hauls some of his supplies into the flat he was renting for the next few weeks. He needs to integrate Mira's purchases into his kit; he needs to check his weapons and other equipment to be sure everything is in perfect working order. 

But, first, he calls John. 

They don't talk on the phone often. Stiles hates putting John in that position---between him and Feliks---but he can't talk with Feliks or with Feliks even in the room. The pack doesn't have access to his life anymore. So, they keep their relationship mostly contained in text messages. 

Sometimes, though, Stiles needs to hear John's voice. 

When John doesn't answer, he doesn't think anything of it. John is a busy man and he could be working the night shift or in bed early if he worked a full day. 

The next day, Stiles tries again as soon as he woke up. He had a weird dream, about John hunting Derek, and he doesn't like any of that. 

A sinking feeling settles into his guts when John doesn't answer---again. 

"Dad, if you're ignoring me… I will figure out a way to get the diner to stop serving you fries," he says when the call switches over to John's voicemail. "Look, I… I'm heading north, and I don't know if they have service up there. I'll try you again later today. Or before I hit snow. If there's snow this time of year. I don't know. I… I hope you and Feliks are okay. Bye."

Stiles washes up and takes care of his new tattoos. After getting dressed, he looks over his supplies but decides he's not quite awake enough for all of that. 

He heads to his favorite coffee shop, on foot, in the hope that extra-strong coffee and a couple of bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon will kickstart his motivation. It's not too early, so the morning rush has passed, and he walks up to the counter and waits for the cashier. 

"Hey, Jimmy," Lita says as soon as she sees him. "Back for more?"

Stiles blinks at her. "I… well, I would've come last night, but I didn't get home 'til late."

She frowns. "You were just here, maybe half an hour ago."

"Uh… no, I was sleeping thirty minutes ago," Stiles responds. 

"I just served you," she insists. 

Fear bubbles up inside of him. Had he been sleepwalking again? Had something gone wrong with the tattoos? Is his mind cracked open or exposed? 

Is he possessed?!

Stiles backs away from the counter, shaking his head.  He hurries out of the shop, barely avoiding passersby as he counts his fingers and rushes back the way he came. 

He doesn't stop until he reaches his temporary home, dodging cars and pedestrians with little concern for his personal safety. Once inside, he locks the door and activates the magical wards with a brush of a sweaty hand over the symbols. Blood would be better but he knows he can't cut himself if his hands aren't steady. 

Since university, he kept a simple system of wireless security cameras trained on his bed. In his dorm room, he'd only needed one, hidden in his closet and aimed at his side of the living space. Now, he has a few that he posted at the entrances to his apartment and main living area, in addition to the cameras in his bedroom. Nothing ever happens, but they'd been helpful when someone tried to rob him. He hopes they'll reassure him that he was in bed all night until his alarm sounded---proving that Lita was confused. 

The footage of the morning shows him sleeping. He never stirred beyond tossing and turning until his alarm rang. 

He isn't possessed. 

He doesn't understand why Lita would think she saw him earlier in the morning. Unless there's someone else in Baker City who looks like him---

_ Oh no… Feliks. _

If Feliks were in town, he must have some sort of pack business for him---and there is no way that would be good news. If anyone were hurt or if hunters were after the pack, John would have called him. 

Stiles contemplates the possible options and decides the only thing he can do is flee. Feliks, Scott, Jackson, Lydia, Isaac, and Erica all told him he should leave. Scott went so far as to say he was never pack---which had been a little funny, after a bit of time, because Scott had never wanted to be a member of Derek's pack until Allison told him he needed help and support that she couldn't give him while trying to figure out where she fit into her family's vocation. Feliks had agreed with Scott's Stiles-isn't-pack position. And Stiles had taken their decision to heart and left. He left Beacon Hills to the pack. He respects their choice; if they can't respect his choice, he will make it difficult for them to find him. 

He looks around his flat. His clothes are on the dresser, not inside its drawers. His supplies are in boxes and cases designed for easy transport. The person from whom he's renting the apartment has his cheques; the account to which the cheques are connected has plenty of money from his paying jobs. Utilities are included in the rent. Nothing can keep him from leaving. He knows he can be packed and on the road in an hour. 

It's time to go. 


	2. Teen Wolf/Shadowhunters AU: Untitled Belize Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood, original characters 
> 
> Notes: This is more of a crossover with TW and SH, but there is some mishmashing to make the pieces fit together. Stiles runs from Beacon Hills; Derek provides sanctuary. (I had this idea while in Belize on vacation; blame the rum punch if it's terrible. I have three chapters roughly written and the rest is in notes.) 
> 
> Warnings: Mention of Character Death, Scott is a bad friend, Deaton is pretty evil and only Stiles (for now) knows it

When he fled Beacon Hills, he never imagined ending up in some sort of somewhat-tropical paradise, watching Derek Hale hand out candy to children who clustered around him as soon as they saw him coming out of the SuperBuy in the south end of town. 

Stiles didn't know if he should laugh or cry. 

What sort of world was he living in, where Scott was the villain, Stiles was a monster, and Derek was the charitable Prince Charming character?

Had he ever seen Derek smile like that? Ever? 

Derek waved them all off, his language a mix of Spanish and English, and then he turned his smile onto Stiles. 

"I'm surprised it took you this long," he said. 

"You weren't that crafty," Stiles agreed, referring to the deposits Derek made (through Melissa) into his remaining bank account. "Wasn't sure if it was an invitation… or just charity. Or pity."

Derek's face softened, just a little. If anyone would understand needing to get out of town and escape, for any reason, it would be Derek. He nodded and gestured towards a golf cart at the end of the row. Stiles followed him when he started walking. 

"I get monthly updates from Chris," Derek said as they walked to the vehicle. "He said something happened. After. All he knew was that you signed everything over to Melissa… and took off. He didn't know, and she wasn't telling. I just wanted you to have the means to stay away---safely---if that's what you need." 

Stiles had no idea what to say.  _ After  _ was so inadequate in describing what had happened. It felt like an insult to all he'd experienced in the last few weeks. Part of him wanted to rage at Derek---for leaving Beacon Hills, for not helping him protect his dad---and part of him wanted to demand if Derek had known what Deaton (and Scott, eventually) had done behind his back. Another part of him wanted to burst into tears---again---and the rest of him wanted to keep running, even though he was pretty sure he'd found a safe place to rest for (at least) a few days. 

"Thank you," Stiles said, instead. 

He watched as Derek put his bags into a compartment under the back seat, and then he watched Derek unlock a padlock from the bar that kept the steering wheel immobile. When the bar was tucked back under the seat, Derek hopped up behind the wheel. 

"Get in," Derek said. 

Stiles eyed the cart and then the road. He'd seen people driving the carts as he walked out of the airport, but he still wasn't sure what he thought of the open vehicles being used on the same roads as cars and trucks. 

"You sure this is safe?" he asked. 

Derek chuckled. "Safer than your jeep," he said. He full-on laughed at Stiles' sound of outrage---how dare he insult the jeep?!---and Stiles had to remind himself that Derek was being a jerk so he didn't get lost in the sight and sound of Derek seeming _happy_ _and relaxed and playful_ after so much had happened. "Seriously, Stiles. It's safe," he added, a trace of humour still in his voice under the certainty. "I wouldn't let you get hurt." 

"Where are we going?" Stiles asked. 

"Home." 

It had been a long time since he had an offer that resonated inside his darkest and neediest places. Stiles was glad he was still wearing his sunglasses, because he could feel his eyes welling up with tears. 

Would he still be welcome in Derek's home after he told Derek his reasons for running? 

Even though he was afraid of being shunned, Stiles still climbed up onto the empty seat. Derek fiddled with something under the bench; when he straightened, he put his arm around Stiles' shoulders as he pushed on the pedal and eased the cart back out onto the street. 

Stiles exhaled shakily, slumping into the contact Derek offered so easily. No one had touched him since the days following the funeral; he'd been so tactile, naturally, and being around werewolves had enhanced that, but when he learned the truth about Deaton and Scott, he'd put a stop to contact because he couldn't trust anyone around him. Instead of a reminder of that pain, Derek's arm felt like warmth and safety and everything good Stiles had shunned since fleeing Beacon Hills. 

Apart from calling out a few greetings to other people, Derek remained silent. He eased them through the streets, squeezing Stiles a little closer before every speed bump or drainage dip, not saying anything of importance. Stiles wanted to fill the silence with rambling thoughts and observations; however, he was finally feeling the exhaustion that his fear had kept at bay. Instead of talking, Stiles kept his eyes open and watched from behind his sunglasses, trying to find proof of what made this place home for Derek. 

When they ended up on some sort of resort property, where more kids raced out into the yard to greet Derek, Stiles could see more than just Derek's happiness. There was a community on the property---maybe even a real pack. He saw a couple werewolf boys, no older than ten, and a little girl who had shimmering scales on her arms and legs; adults came out to greet Derek, too, wearing the same t-shirt with the same sun-and-moon logo from the road sign on them. Derek waved to them all, passed the last of his candy to the kids, and then grabbed the bags from the back of the cart. 

"C'mon," Derek said to Stiles. "You can do a load of laundry, have a shower, and I'll cook us something to eat." 

"What is this place?" Stiles asked. 

"Sanctuary," Derek replied. "I'll tell you all about it once you're settled." 

He nodded, slipped his backpack strap onto his shoulder, and hurried to Derek's side. They walked past a handful of mini-houses---there for families and staff, as needed, Derek explained---before they reached a cream-coloured building a few stories high. Stiles stared at it, eyes wide, as he tried to figure out how Derek could have built something so beautiful and bright. 

"It came with the property, but it was a mess," Derek said. "When I decided to settle in here for a while, I hired people to fix the exterior and the bones. The people who needed a pack help me with the interiors. A few have come and gone since we started, and some have homes and jobs in town so they aren't around a lot, but you saw the core group. We'll have a trial run in the spring and open for business next fall." 

"Vacation rentals?" Stiles asked. 

Derek nodded. "Mostly for others, like us, but I know we'll get  _ normal _ business, too."

"This is great," he said. "I had no idea werewolves needed vacations---it makes sense, though, to need to let your fangs fly free." 

After a snort, Derek said, "Not just werewolves… although I doubt many vampires will want to come here. They tend to prefer cooler climates and shorter days." 

Stiles wondered if warlocks would be safe on Derek's property. 

"A guy I met in New York, he knows a lot of people, and he said he'd help me find good clients for the first year, and the second if word-of-mouth doesn't help," Derek continued, oblivious to the turn that Stiles' thoughts had taken. "He pops in periodically, to check on his, uh, investment, so you might see him, but it's hard to guess when he'll make an appearance." 

Stiles tried to say something. The only sound that escaped his lips was something he hoped Derek interpreted as acquiescence or humour. 

Derek took him up two sets of wide stairs before they stopped at a condo door that was marked  _ Manager/ _ _ Director _ . He unlocked the door and pushed it open; he ushered Stiles inside with a small flourish of his hand. 

"Make yourself at home," Derek said as they walked into the living space, heading straight for the kitchen. "It's smaller than the rental units, but there's enough room for you, if there's enough room for Cora or Magnus and Alec when they visit. We can share the bed---if you don't want to be alone---or one of us can take the couch. I have air mattresses, too, in case Alec comes with his family, but I wouldn't wish those on you."

"You shouldn't say stuff like that until you know why I'm running," Stiles whispered. 

As he brought the bags up onto the counter of the island, Derek shrugged with a tilt of his head. "You're still  _ you _ , the rest doesn't matter to me," he said. "After everything you've done for me… Stiles, yes, I'm going to be here for you." 

Frowning and nodding, Stiles could feel his eyes watering. The illusion or whatever it was actually called was still in place---he could feel that, still, too---but he didn't want to take off his sunglasses. 

"Go shower," Derek insisted. He pointed to a door. "Bathroom's through the bedroom. Plenty of towels and hot water for you to use. Throw your clothes and anything else that needs washing outside the bathroom door. I'll start the laundry and put something out for you to wear in their place." 

"Derek…" 

He paused in his task of setting out his purchases. Before Stiles could move away, Derek reached up and cupped the back of his neck in a firm but gentle gesture. 

"You're safe here," Derek promised. "Nothing you did is gonna make me chase you away. I promise. Got it?" 

Stiles nodded. Derek squeezed his hand and Stiles had to bite back a surprising moan. He never thought his neck was particularly sensitive; he assumed it had to do with Derek, if not his weird moments of arousal during heightened states of fear. Derek had been a key player in so many of his ridiculous teenaged fantasies, it made sense that a simple, grounding touch was setting off the pleasure centres in his brain. 

"Go get clean," Derek instructed. "Don't drink the shower, okay? There's a bottle of water at the sink for teeth brushing and drinking." 

Stiles huffed out a little chuckle. "This isn't my first rodeo," he muttered. "Surprised you have to be careful, though. Werewolf superpowers can't get you through a stomach bug?"

"Doesn't last long, but it can still be unpleasant," Derek said, smiling as he removed his hand from the back of Stiles' neck. "Go on. A shower will help. Wash the airports and people off of you." 

"I knew there was a reason you're pushing the shower," Stiles said, glad for the chance to lighten the mood with humour. "You missed the pure  _ eau de Stiles _ . No shame in that, big guy. I am a treat when I don't smell all sweaty and airplane-y." 

"You are a treat," Derek agreed. "And you wandered into the big bad wolf's territory, all alone," he added before he let his fangs appear. 

Instead of recoiling, which probably would have been a normal person's reaction, Stiles laughed. It wouldn't hide the physical reaction he had whenever Derek did something both hot and werewolf-y, but hopefully it would distract Derek from discovering his incredibly persistent and ill-timed attraction. 

"Well. I'm just going to get cleaned up. For that. Yep."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Go. I don't bite dirty, sweaty people," he said as he turned to the refrigerator with the beer and vegetables from his shopping bags. 

After a snort and a shake of his head, Stiles felt the dismissal and went off in the direction of Derek's bedroom. It was fine---as fine as it could be, given Stiles' situation---until he looked around the space and realized that he was standing inside  _ Derek's bedroom _ . The room belonged to someone who believed he deserved a life; the room belonged to someone who had a good life. 

Stiles could see photos of Erica and Boyd, along with some of Jackson and Isaac. There were a couple pictures of Cora; there were photos of people Stiles didn't recognise. Stiles stared at one where two very handsome men were snuggling Derek on a beach lounger, before he found a picture of him, Lydia, and Malia, laughing at something while on one of their rescue (or anti-Monroe) missions. 

Beyond the framed photographs, there were clothes and jewelry and small pieces of art that spoke of a life well-lived. His king-sized and quilt-covered bed looked so comfortable---and Stiles might have smothered a whimper at the thought of sharing that bed with Derek---that Stiles wanted to stretch out over it and forget about everything that had happened. 

Derek had grown up a lot since he was a guilt-ridden and traumatised twenty-something, believing he deserved to live in condemned houses and train stations. The impersonal loft had been a step in the right direction, but Stiles could see how much  _ more _ Derek had evolved since he left Beacon Hills for the last time. If his use of words and smiles hadn't convinced Stiles, the bedroom would have done it all on its own. 

With a sigh, Stiles pulled himself out of his thoughts and started emptying his backpack. His clothes and his ragged microfibre towel ended up on the floor outside the bathroom; his few toiletries ended up in the bathroom with him as he stared at Derek's private area and tried to reconcile who he was in Beacon Hills, California with who he seemed to be in San Pedro, Belize. Derek in Belize appeared to care a lot about his body and his health. Stiles smiled a little in approval of Derek's product choices---although he wasn't sure Derek needed so many for beard-care and he definitely planned on teasing Derek about that if he were allowed to stay. 

He stripped quickly, not looking at his body at all, and he tucked those clothes with the rest of what he'd unpacked. At the sink, with its mirror on the wall, Stiles sighed and removed his sunglasses. His eyes were still normal. 

He knew they would be. His hand and sides were still normal, and the three abnormalities were hidden or visible together. He didn't know much about the magic in showing and hiding his strange characteristics, but he knew when the magic failed him. It was worse when he was exhausted or sick; it also faltered when he was particularly emotional. He was so scared of what Derek would say when he saw any of the signs that meant he was something  _ other _ than human. He wanted a safe place with a familiar face, and if Derek sent him away… he didn't know where else he could go. 

After another sigh, Stiles turned his attention to the shower and took his first steps towards feeling better on a physical level. 


	3. Teen Wolf/NCIS AU: Untitled Long-Lost Half-Brother Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Talia Hale, original characters, baby Anthony DiNozzo; later, there should be a lot of Teen Wolf characters, a few from NCIS, and maybe a couple from Bitten. 
> 
> Notes: Talia hadn't inherited her alpha status and reputation. She fought for it. After her father mates her off to another pack, she struggled against the lack of freedom and respect until it wasn't just her life at stake. (Derek will find out about this in a hidden letter, later, and as he reconstructs his view of his family (and realises his half-sibling comes with a family of his own) and the meaning of pack, his life will change drastically again---but hopefully in a better way.) 
> 
> Warnings: Allusions to non-con, canon level violence, Scott is not a good guy (but that's not in this snippet---it's just in my notes for now; and yes, I know I have a thing against Scott right now)

July 9, 1971

Talia growled when the pack's alleged emissary tried to take her newborn son from her arms. The witch seemed unfazed by her golden eyes and dainty fangs---perhaps for good reason, since she didn't have the icy blue of the betas who'd taken lives---and reached out for the child again. 

"Your alpha wants to see his son," the older woman said. 

"Over my dead body," Talia snarled. 

Her precious son was barely a day old. She'd gone into labour alone, she'd delivered her precious child without any help from anyone, and she refused to hand over the  _ only _ good thing to come from being shipped off to be a disgusting-excuse-for-an-alpha's broodmare. Her son was proof of her value to his pack, but he was also her reason to fight. 

She was a Hale. She was the only Hale since her grandmother to be blessed by the Nemeton's lingering power. It didn't matter what her father and brother thought. She would fight, she would burn the pack holding her prisoner to the ground, she would take her son to safety, and then she would return to her homeland to fight to protect the telluric currents. She had the strength and the training to be a formidable opponent; she had the instincts of a woman betrayed and of a feral mother to help sharpen her edge to a dangerous point.

But, first, she had to deal with the witch that the alpha---not hers, just  _ the _ \---thought of as his emissary. 

"That may be arranged if you provide him with enough heirs," the witch said, smirking. "You may be from one of the old families, but times are changing. True power doesn't reside with the bloodlines anymore." 

Talia felt her lip curl. The witch had  _ no _ idea of what she was capable. She could transform, exposing the secret she'd guarded since the night at the tree, and be more deadly in that shape, but she needed to hold onto her son. 

Ten months ago, she hated the idea of having a child with the alpha who had practically purchased her at her father's offer. Eight months ago, she was protecting that small bundle of cells with her life---even if that meant bowing and yielding to what the alpha wanted from her. As soon as she'd felt different, as soon as she knew, her priorities had shifted. She had a son and he had to survive. He had no idea who he was, who he could be, but she was determined to get him to a place where he could learn those things. No matter who his father was, the baby was hers in a way that was so primal that it rivalled her wolfish instincts. She would take him to safety; she would see him grow and revel in all the secrets the world held. He would not become his father's son because he was  _ her _ son. 

But, first… the witch. 

She was an obstacle. One of the few humans in the pack, she could wield weapons that other shapeshifters could not touch. The other humans were either slaves or spies; the witch was the only person on the property with any sort of regularity and freedom, so she was a target. 

Talia realised she might have to sacrifice her gold eyes for blue; she might become a target for hunters if she weren't careful. 

She looked down at her son. The small bundle for whom she would kill---without hesitation. 

Blue eyes were a fair price to pay if it meant her son lived. 

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face because the witch was stepping back, away from the bed and toward the dresser where she'd put her case of herbs. Talia could not let her reach the mistletoe, mountain ash, or whatever strain of wolfsbane Talia knew was stored in its compartments. She acted quickly, cradling her son to her in one arm as she slipped across the rug; before the witch could turn around, Talia's free hand was settling onto the back of her neck. 

With one forceful twist of her hand, Talia snapped the witch's neck. 

It surprised her---how easy it was, how little effort was required to break the bones and compromise the spinal column. It surprised her so much that she dropped the witch's body instead of placing it gently on the ground. 

The body landed with a loud  _ thump _ . 

Talia cursed---silently---and she listened hard for sounds of the pack's reaction. It was unlikely anyone was near the house; no one but the witch lived in the alpha's house, and no one visited the alpha's house without the alpha's invitation or command. Still, all the pack's members had enhanced senses. If she could hear them, in the command posts and cabins on the property, then they could hear her. 

Besides Talia, her son, and the dead witch, the alpha was still in the house. He seemed to be in the living room, waiting for the baby to be brought to him. When the witch had first entered the bedroom, Talia thought she'd heard the marching band sound of the  _ Gomer Pyle, USMC _ playing from the television. 

She could hear the jingle for True Cigarettes playing, a moment later, as she moved her son to the bed. With him settled and in her line of vision, she moved back to the witch and moved her to the other side of the room and out of the obvious line of sight. 

Talia never learned the witch's name. She never would, either, because she didn't think anyone but the alpha knew it. There was power in names, and the witch had been smart to guard that power as if it were a secret. 

Before she returned to her son, she went to the closet. She had few possessions---part of the alpha's plan to keep her from running---but she was resourceful. She'd squirreled away enough clothing for a trek through the woods. A few garments, she'd transformed into a sling for her baby. She'd stolen a small blade from one of the betas who checked on her at night. And she fully planned to take the thick-soled boots from the witch's feet. 

Her identification and chequebook had been destroyed, but she liked her chances of happening upon a good samaritan once she reached a major road. It seemed unlikely that someone wouldn't help a desperate woman with a newborn. 

And if there were no kind-hearted people along the way, she knew she could hunt and kill prey in the woods to give herself enough sustenance to feed her son and to get them both to safety. 

But, before she could escape, she needed to kill the alpha. She needed to make sure  _ he _ wouldn't be chasing after her. She also needed his power and strength to fight her father---the Hale alpha---and to win against him, and killing the alpha was the only way to take that force for herself. 

When the alpha started moving towards the hall of bedrooms, Talia was ready. Her son was tucked away, hidden in the closet and sleeping the sleep of the innocent and unaware, and she had the knife tucked in her belt, against her back. She was wearing the boots; the extra clothing was bundled up and ready to be carried. She waited by the door, schooling her breath and her heartbeat to remain calm; he could hear her pulse and she needed him to think she wasn't poised and ready to strike. 

"Where's my son, Witch?" 

Talia remained silent. She wasn't tense---her father had taught her how to fight, in a way, and she knew from those lessons that being loose was best---and she wasn't panicking. She would have seemed attentive, but calm and cool, if there had been a witness in the room. 

The door opened. The alpha walked through and into her room---or her prison. When he couldn't find Talia, her son, or the witch, he turned. But, before he could turn, Talia pounced. 

Her fangs and claws extended, mid-air. If he'd been an effective alpha, he might have stopped her. Instead, he struggled and tried to fling her off of him, but by the time he started moving she'd found purchase in the meaty muscles in his back. He snarled; she growled and sliced through his flesh. 

The fight didn't last as long as it would when she faced down her father. The alpha to whom she'd been practically sold was a lousy businessman; he wasn't a fighter. When he finally dropped, Talia's claws buried in his throat, they were both covered in his blood but very little of her blood. 

She retracted her hands from his body in time to feel the rush of alpha power transfer from him to her. 

After throwing her head back, Talia roared. 

She heard a little mewling sound come from the closet, from her son, and she smiled. 

Talia's Letter, part one

_ My darlings, _

_ It is my fiercest hope that I am sharing my secrets with you, face to face, instead of through this letter. However, knowing our world, there is a very good chance that I will not find the right moment to tell you about our family---which is why I've written this letter and hidden it in the vault, in a place I hope your uncle will never look. _

_ I've never told you about the mateship my father arranged for me. It was with the alpha of a pack on the other side of the country---in North Carolina---and it was one of the worst experiences in my life. But, it gave me a son, and I think of him as my reward for surviving, even though I was only able to hold him in my arms for a few weeks. _

_ Yes, your father knows about my first child and he understands my reasons for keeping him a secret from all of you. Your father _ is _ my mate. My soulmate. I feel it every second of every day, his love for me and for you, our children, and for the pack we've built, and I know it is as true and dependable as the cycle of the moon. (I hope with all my heart you find someone to know you the way you deserve to be known. I hope you never have to settle; I will continue to do everything in my power to ensure you cannot be used as pawns to secure alliances. It is distasteful. But, I digress.) When I admitted to him the truth, about my past, he mourned for the loss that came through my decision; he also agreed with me, after spending years in Peter's company, that it might be best to keep the knowledge of my first son a secret until I can guarantee his safety. _

_ Now, I know this must be a shock to you. He lives with us. He's my brother and your uncle. I must trust him? In some ways, yes, I do. However, he was raised on the promise of prestige and power for the Hale Pack, and no matter how hard I try to teach him about protecting the territory for all its inhabitants, he sees nothing of value in the honour of being a guardian of peace. You will always need to be careful of Peter. If he is still alive while I am not, promise me you will be careful in your dealings with him. I don't doubt that he loves you, his nieces and nephews, but I know how much he craves power and I've seen how far he is willing to go to achieve that power. He is my father's son, through and through, more than he is ever my brother---or your uncle. _

_ It is this concern about his desires that forced me to keep my secret from you. Not because I didn't trust you---there was no one I trusted more than you, my flesh and blood and heart---but because the only way to keep you all safe was to keep this secret between the only people who were there and who are still alive. _

_ It was distasteful when my father very nearly sold me to this alpha. You will not have to worry about him. When I'd ended our arrangement, I was very thorough. However, our time together will affect you in another way and if I am no longer around, I want to ask you to do something for my memory. I want to ask you to check on my son and see how he has grown up, because I've kept my distance since I left him with his adoptive pack. _

_ You might think that was cruel, that I did not bring him home with me when I came to claim our family's territory. At first, it was because it wasn't safe to bring a baby to a showdown. And then… he was settled in his life, where no one knew who he was… and I feared what Peter would do if I brought my firstborn son home. _

_ It sounds ridiculous, I know. He has never shown any outright hostility towards you, Laura, even though I've made it clear through your training that you would be my successor. I suspect he does not think you are a threat---a mistake on his part---and he believes himself to be the only logical choice. If he is the pack's next alpha, we are doomed. I know what he was taught at our father's knee and those lessons will not help achieve harmony with the telluric currents or safety of the people of Beacon County. _

_ Back to my son---your brother. After I'd given birth, I secured our escape. I meant to return straight to Beacon Hills, but knew I could not bring my baby with me. Without allies in California, I made the decision to seek out people I'd once considered friends. You might remember my mentions of friendship with Jeremy Danvers. By this point, he was the alpha of a small, stable group in upstate New York. He had more connections than I did on that side of the country, and he helped me find a home for my baby with another pack. The parents are the alpha pair. They promised to raise him as if he were his own, and only reveal his true parentage in case of an emergency or upon their death. But, as I grow older, I wonder about him… I worry about him. And, I want him to know you, my children, even if he will never know me. _

_ I understand if you are too angry with me or too mistrustful of an unknown person to reach out to him, but… to put it plainly, get over it. This man is your family. He may still have a pack of his own, and he may have no desire to get to know his blood family. I don't want to put him on Peter's radar, but he deserves to know his siblings exist---and that there is a place for him if you can see past my transgressions and get to know him in a way I never could. _

_ His name is Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. I named him Anthony after the woman, Antonia, who drove us from North Carolina into Virginia; but, my choice felt like fate when I met the alpha pair and learned their names---Anthony DiNozzo, obviously, and Elizabeth Paddington. She is the alpha; she seemed soft but fierce when I met her, and the way she held my son told me she would love him as if he were her own son. Her mate… he is very charming, and I suspect he does most of the negotiations for the pack. Very slick, but he doted on Elizabeth when I saw them together. If you cannot find him through directory assistance, Jeremy will have the address of his pack---and may even have his current information. All I know his family home was located in Suffolk County, Long Island, near Wildwood State Park. _

_ Now, Laura, Derek, especially, please don't think I was keeping him from you for a particular reason---or that I'm trying to usurp your positions within the pack. My plan for the future has always been Laura as Alpha and Derek as second in command. I hope your father and I have had time to teach you everything you need to know. Cora and Ryan, you will be the strength and support they need to keep the pack together and thriving. You will find mates to bolster your numbers; you may find strays that need a place to belong. And, yes, I know you may choose to bestow the gift of the bite to a few worthy people. You four are the core, the heart; you've been at the centre of everything I've tried to do in this land and if you listen to it, you, too, will realise how important Beacon County is to the fragile peace between the mundane and the supernatural.  _

_ Please don't let this news tarnish your views of me---or of the pack we'd become together. I hope you are all safe and happy and cherished… I hope for so much for you that my heart aches. Take care of each other and know that I am always thinking of you.  _

_ With all my heart, _ _   
_ _ Talia _


	4. Multi: Untitled Mutant AU Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Evangeline Whedon, Spencer Reid, Kate Argent, original characters, and a whole lot of characters from other shows (Criminal Minds, The Gifted, NCIS, NCIS New Orleans, Teen Wolf, Sanctuary, and maybe the other X-Men universes, too) 
> 
> Notes: Stiles is a mutant, so this story is meant to be a Teen Wolf/The Gifted crossover, at its foundation, but I started pulling other characters into it. He is on the run, and he crosses paths with people who are looking to protect mutants in the face of Sentinel Services' actions. I have some of this plotted out… but not much written compared to some other WIPs.

Something was wrong. There were mutants and a few allies marching, relatively peacefully, to stand up for the belief that they deserved to be treated like citizens. There were protesters growing rowdier and angrier by the second. The streets of Dallas were a pressure cooker. All the ingredients for a fight were there. Beyond what Stiles could see, though, his brain was telling him it was going to get worse than a fight---people on both sides were going to die. Something was  _ wrong _ .

He liked his abilities, most days. The ability to make leaps of logic was helpful, even if the power to absorb knowledge (and some mutant abilities, so far only temporarily, _ thank goodness _ ) was troublesome. As long as no one touched him, he could set his mind on a puzzle and solve it before anyone even knew there was something to solve. His mind kept him safe from bullies and helped him help his father solve crimes; it was also what told him when it was time to flee Beacon Hills and showed him how to stay under Sentinel Services' radar. His powers kept him alive. 

But, he couldn't solve the puzzle when he couldn't see any of its moving parts. All he knew was that something was going to go very wrong. 

Stiles sighed and tugged his ball cap down. Sweat trickled down his temple; he rubbed it away and grimaced as he rubbed his hand on his jeans. It was too humid and it had been too long (two days) since his last shower. Whoever decided to protest in the middle of July in  _ Texas  _ had not thought out their plan. He knew he needed to get out of the street---if only to go somewhere he could cool down and clean up---but he needed to figure out what was about to unfold in front of him. 

He didn't like to draw attention to himself, but he couldn't leave all these people exposed to danger. No one was there to protect the people; none of the usual heroes had arrived to watch over the protest. Stiles knew he wasn't much---just a weird brain trapped in a scrawny body---but if he could save anyone he would do his best and try. 

He climbed a set of steps in front of a bank and squinted out at the crowd of people. He could see children---one of whom was about to lose her popsicle if she were jostled again---but they seemed to be on the periphery of events. An angry group of Purifiers was shouting at two blue-skinned protesters; Stiles knew they would be quick to start violence if one mutant took a hostile step towards them. Small groups of worried looking college students stood on both sides of the issue's divide; Stiles had a feeling that one person in each group would be swayed to activism after the events of the march.

Then, he saw the woman---again. 

He'd crashed into her once, as he was puzzling over how Sentinel Services had caught up to him in Kansas City, and when she'd put her hand on his shoulder he'd figured it all out in a flash on inspiration. The girl at the hostel was a mutant, but she'd looked sad when he introduced himself; she had two cellular phones in her pockets. She was an informant and she turned him into the agency. His mind had put the small bits of evidence together far more quickly than he would have… 

Stiles watched her, standing on the curb between mutants and mutant haters. She was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way. Her hair was long and blonde, her body hinted at strength underneath her leather and denim, but there was something off about her, too. Stiles also noticed how much louder and angrier the people closest to her were acting---and how at ease she was between the warring factions. 

She turned her head. Her hair caught on an earpiece, not an earbud but some sort of larger communication device. It had a red glow that reminded him of the robot that chased him into the Missouri River. 

And, then, he saw her eyes glow and her lips curve into a predatory smirk and he  _ knew _ . 

There was nothing he could do. 

He whirled around and saw the protesters in front of him picking up garbage cans and holding up their batons, and he realised he was causing the problem, too, because her skin had touched his---just a little---and he had absorbed her amplification power. He was helping whoever she was---or whoever had her under their control. 

Stiles looked at the mutants and could see the air around some of them shimmering. 

He was too late. And he was making it worse. 

Stiles cursed under his breath. 

"What have you figured out?" 

Stiles managed not to flail, but he did yelp. When he turned, he saw a tall, elegant brunette wearing a business suit. He thought he could see scales along her hairline, but he wasn't quite sure that's what they were. 

"It's time to go," Stiles said. 

She nodded. "Yes, I agree," she murmured. She smiled at him. "My name is Evangeline Whedon. Stiles, I'd like to talk with you about---" 

"How---" 

"What do I need to tell you so you know you can trust me?" she asked, cutting off his interrupting question. "By the look on your face, I'm guessing we don't have much time." 

Stiles knew her---not personally, but he paid attention to all mutant-related news and her name came up at least once every couple weeks---enough to know that she was pro-mutant if she wasn't a mutant in hiding. The glimpse of scales he thought he saw… he would wager she was a mutant, doing what she could to help people who needed help. She'd never defended a member of the Brotherhood, as far as he could remember, but Stiles knew she helped supporters of the X-Men---and probably the X-Men, too, even if Stiles didn't have knowledge of all the behind-the-scenes legal wrangling that happened on their behalf. 

"Let's go," he said. 

Her lips twitched as she nodded. "My car's around back. We were here for a meeting," she informed him. 

Stiles spared a glance at the woman in the sea of people. She was still calm; everyone around her was nowhere close to calm. The shimmering in the air was increasing, becoming more dense, and Stiles had a hunch that they had about twenty minutes before the street was turned into a war zone. 

He decided to follow Evangeline. He nodded; she nodded, too, and headed off on a concrete path that would take them to the parking lot. Stiles ducked his head when they passed under a security camera. Evangeline seemed perfectly calm, unaware of the problems that could come from having a sixteen year old boy accompanying her, so Stiles tried his best to play along with her. 

His mind was still whirring, trying to piece together whatever was happening, and all he could think was that she recognised him from a Missing Child poster and was trying to take him back to Beacon Hills. 

He could continue to play along until his hunch was confirmed---and then he would be leaving her company as quickly as possible. 

The government agent leaned against the back of her rental car was supposed to be that confirmation. But, the speed at which he was reading his book made Stiles reevaluate his role in whatever was happening. 

When the agent noticed them, he straightened and smiled. "Hey, you found him," he said. 

Stiles stiffened. "Who're you?" 

"My name is Spencer Reid, I---" 

"Sentinel Services, Homeland, NSA, or---" 

"FBI, actually," Spencer continued. "I work with the BAU. The---" 

"Yeah, I know," Stiles interrupted, remembering a time when he thought he'd have a future and was considering all the options in law enforcement that he thought would make his father proud of him. "Not actually an idiot." 

Spencer's smile narrowed into a more serious expression. "I know. I've seen your test scores," he said. "You're very smart. You ended up staying off Sentinel Services' radar, too, for years, with one of their top teams based in the same region, up until you ran away." 

"I didn't want my dad to get into trouble," Stiles said. 

"And that was smart, too. If he doesn't get caught protecting someone with the X-gene, then he can't be detained or forced to resign. He can act as if he didn't know," Spencer said, nodding. "I've been tracking your progress through the country. You're only sixteen, but you helped others in trouble in almost every place you stopped." 

"The FBI is looking for me?" 

With a brief shake of his head, Spencer said, "No, I was tracking you. Keeping an eye out for people with certain skill sets." 

"Why?" 

Evangeline sighed. "Could we discuss this in the car?" she asked. "We have an eight hour drive ahead of us before dealing with Pride." 

"And Gibbs," Spencer said. At Evangeline's raised eyebrows, Spencer added, "He texted me. They're working a case. DiNozzo's in town, too." 

Stiles almost smiled at Evangeline's display of annoyance---a roll of her eyes and a puff of breath that almost seemed to steam in the already hot air---but he was more curious about any information they could reveal to him if they were allowed to continue talking without an interruption from him. Stiles was willing to assume more federal agents, based on what Spencer had already said, but Stiles wanted more. 

"What case?" Evangeline asked. 

"An ensign and a lieutenant on a spree," Spencer replied. "Looks like their spouses were killed by a mutant while they were on deployment. On a battlecarrier. It didn't seem to matter that the spouses were having an affair with each other. They're out for revenge." 

Pride, Gibbs, and DiNozzo were associated with the Navy, then, Stiles decided---but he didn't need his weird mutant mojo to come to that conclusion. 

"Wonderful," Evangeline muttered. She turned her attention to Stiles. "Do we need to get any of your belongings before we leave town?" 

"I… I have a few things in a room at a Super 7 southwest of here," he said. "I wasn't planning on staying long. Just… there was something about this event that seemed… off." 

Spencer's eyebrows jumped up. "Anything in particular?" 

"Nothing I can explain." 

He nodded and moved around to the front passenger seat. "All right. I can feel the electricity in the air, we should get out of here before things get worse," he said. "Stiles, you in?" 

"For now." 

Evangeline reached out to put her hand on his shoulder. Normally, clothing would be enough of a barrier between his ability to absorb information (or powers), but the woman in the crowd had amplified him somehow and he didn't want to risk contact of any kind. Before she could make contact, he flinched. 

To her credit, Evangeline barely reacted. She pulled her hand back and used it to gesture towards the car. "Come on," she murmured. "We should put some distance between us and the excitement." 

Stiles decided to continue following her. She didn't seem like a threat---nor did Spencer---and he really didn't want to be in the area when mutant powers and hatred of mutants exploded all over the street.


	5. Sense8: Untitled Post-Series Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possible titles: Sensate Adoption, Caring Becomes Sharing, the Herlito Home for Wayward Sensates, or The Start of Sense∞
> 
> Characters: Sun, Kala, original characters (for now, but the rest of the show's cluster will eventually appear) 
> 
> Notes: I have no actual idea what I'm doing with this. I started it last year, and every month or so, I end up adding a paragraph. I have a little bit of the next chapter written.

Outside in the yard, Bomi and Jin Kyong were playing. The pain that had been etched into Sun's ward was fading; Bomi's playful energy was good for the woman, who had been so scared and serious when Sun had opened her new home to the orphaned sensate. Jin Kyong has insisted she should keep doing what she'd been doing---work, care of her flat, and taking her blockers to avoid the pain---but Sun insisted the "new and improved" Biologic Preservation Organisation's sensate reparations were there for any sensate who needed them, and Jin Kyong has lost her whole cluster. She needed time to grieve and heal, as well as to find a new path for her mind and soul. 

It should have been weird, with Sun being younger than her charge, but Jin Kyong needed care and support and Sun was in a good and stable place after the events of the last couple years. They fit together and Sun was glad for that. There were too many damaged or decimated clusters after Whispers and the Chairman; still feeling the ache of her biological family grief, Sun understood enough of what they were feeling to rise to the occasion when Kala asked for help. 

Kwon-Ho thought it was brave and honourable---to help the sensate orphans heal as well as to take in one of the orphans---and he liked teaching Jin Kyong how to fight when he had the time. Sun wasn't sure it was brave or honourable; she just knew she could help and she wanted to do so. Jin Kyong's smile, shining through her grief, was the only reward she required. 

Sun turned her head and saw Kala's home office over her own sitting room. Kala was standing in front of a whiteboard, lists and maps taped to its surface, and Sun knew she was talking but her attention had been on Jin Kyong. 

_ "Are you even listening?" _

With a small smile, Sun turned her attention back to Kala. She knew that Kala knew she hadn't been listening; that was the way of their cluster bond, a deep understanding without much conscious thought. 

_ "How many are left?" _ Sun asked.  _ "Less than ten?" _

_ "Seven, that we know of… to be precise," _ Kala replied.  _ "Puck's remaining cluster members have taken several, and I think Mister Hoy is willing to take another. But there are more, and---"  _

_ "What about Will and Riley?" _ Sun asked.  _ "Or Lito?" _

Kala beamed at her.  _ "I have one in mind for Lito, actually," _ she said.  _ "And Riley said they would take the pair that remains of the April twenty-second cluster. Two is more effort, having to be available, but they have each other, so we are hopeful they will be fine in the end." _

_ "Would you… if we'd all died…" _

_ "If you'd all died, I probably would have died, too, since I was there," _ Kala said, a fond-but-exasperated look on her face. 

_ "No, I mean, like the orphans---if the strike teams had reached most of your cluster," _ Sun clarified.  _ "Would you accept this sensate... adoption? Support?"  _

_ "Who else would understand my pain?" _ Kala asked. She smiled and shrugged. _ "Rajan would try, but I would be grieving seven times over. That is a heavy burden. If someone who understood the cluster bond was offering to help…" _

Sun nodded, accepting that.  _ "How is the distribution of the reparation and relocation money coming along?" _

_ "Not my area, but the twins from the October eleventh cluster say that nearly everyone of whom the Archipelago was aware has registered for the funds. A few are too angry to accept BPO's money---which I understand---and a few have gone more underground than we, collectively, can locate," _ Kala replied.  _ "I could go check with them if you---"  _

_ "No, no," _ Sun interrupted. She gave a brief shake of her head.  _ "I understand the anger and the need to remain hidden---or unnoticed." _

Kala gave her a softer smile, an expression that came with a pulse of affection along the psycellium between them, and she sat down at Sun's side.  _ "It's a better world now," _ she murmured.  _ "You have a home and a family." _

_ "But, would I be eager to seek out another cluster or sensate if I'd lost all of you? I might regain the ability to visit with someone else, but I would forever be reminded that I no longer have anyone with whom I may share," _ Sun argued. 

_ "What has Jin Kyong said?" _

Sun shrugged.  _ "That something is better than nothing---and we help her fight the urge to isolate further---but it still reminds her of what she lost." _

Kala frowned.  _ "I wish… well, I do not know for what I wish." _

_ "To give them a cluster?" _ Sun asked. 

_ "Bodhi said they are cut off and on their own and there is nothing we can do to change their status within the sea of psycellium," _ Kala said.  _ "I think that is… very sad." _

Sun reached out and put her hand on Kala's arm. As if Kala were physically there, her brain was telling her that Kala's skin was warm and soft; Sun brushed her fingers gently down to the back of Kala's hand and smiled. 

_ "We are doing what we can to help," _ Sun murmured. 

_ "I keep trying to tell these orphans that they are lucky to be alive," _ Kala admitted.  _ "They tell me they wish BPO had found them, too." _

Sensing Kala's need for comfort, Sun threaded their fingers together.  _ "Family comes in all shapes and sizes," _ she said.  _ "I don't presume to understand their pain, but life is usually preferable to death once the strongest feelings of grief and guilt pass." _

Kala nodded. 

Sun squeezed her hand.  _ "You mentioned you found someone for Lito?" _

_ "Yes, I did!" _ Kala exclaimed, squeezing Sun's hand excitedly before releasing her and bouncing over to her desk. She picked up a file and offered it to Sun.  _ "Here, this is the one. A Canadian. Mister Hoy offered to take her, but she refuses to go off blockers---and I have no idea how she makes them, if she's not in contact with any other sensates---and she refuses to leave the country." _

_ "Does she have a passport?" _

_ "Yes, since two-thousand-and-one." _

Sun nodded and shrugged.  _ "It is easier to keep renewing them. Does she travel?" _

_ "Not much," _ Kala replied.  _ "She used to for school and work." _

Sun took the proffered folder and thumbed through it as if it were in her own physical space. She saw a driver's license picture of a young woman, four years younger than Sun, with a pair of cool, grey eyes set in a round face. The file suggested she'd been reborn two years before Sun and her cluster had connected. Even though Sun had no way to guess her disposition from a photograph, she seemed… tired. 

_ "Who birthed the cluster?" _ Sun asked. 

Kala shrugged.  _ "No one knows. Amanita only found her because she was tracking sales of the base components of the blocker compound," _ she explained.  _ "She has not had contact with any sensate since the deaths of her clustermates." _

_ "And you think Lito would be the best bet? If she would not travel to Scotland, I doubt she would travel to Mexi---" _

A slight push-and-tug of the bond had her stopping to consider Lito's position in the world. He flashed her a mental smile from his residence---which was not the apartment he shared with Hernando and Daniela---and Sun returned the gesture with a small smile and a burst of warmth of her own. 

_ "He is in Canada," _ Sun amended. She bowed her head once as she drifted back towards her body and Kala's position in her home.  _ "I see. It is still a big country." _

_ "Yes, yes, but she said she would be willing to meet in a city between her location and Toronto, where Lito will be for the next eight months," _ Kala explained.  _ "And Lito told me last week that Hernando is joining him before filming, and they are going somewhere else so he can interview academics for his book." _

Sun looked back over the file. There wasn't much information---some about her education and work history, and about her family---and that made it difficult to guess how she and Lito would bond, or if they would bond at all. But, ever since she started helping Kala connect isolated sensates with those who still had clusters, in an attempt to repair some of the damage caused by BPO's dark turn, she learned that Kala had some sort of inexplicable sense about which sensates would be well-matched. 

_ "Why do you think they would be a good match?" _ Sun asked. 

_ "I spoke with her on the phone," _ Kala said,  _ "because I wanted to understand why she was unwilling to move---temporarily, of course---and Lito just kept coming to mind." _

Sun nodded. That was similar to several of the matches she'd made, including her own with Jin Kyong. But, despite that, she felt she had to remind Kala that Lito, Hernando, and Daniela might not want another person in their lives. 

_ "He may not want to… with his family, there is already three---" _

Kala waved her hand.  _ "I already asked him. He agreed to meet her," _ she said.  _ "Anything more than that, it may or may not happen. I promised both of them I would not meddle much more than I already have." _

With another nod, Sun handed Kala the file.  _ "It sounds like you have the situation well in hand," _ she said. She picked up her own file folder.  _ "Now. Would you like to go over the most recent earnings report for the accounts we created to assist with these situations and any future disasters?" _

Kala smiled. As soon as she was seated again, next to Sun, she was plucking the folder from Sun's hand and opening it. As she studied the figures detailing the earnings of their collective investments, Sun started explaining the data. She might not have the intuition to pair the sensate orphans with stable sensates from clusters who could help them heal, but she did have the knowledge and skill that could take their cluster's reparation money along with other funds and help it to grow so they would have resources to help if there was ever another danger to _homo sensorium_.


	6. Teen Wolf AU: Untitled [Deaton is Evil, Stiles is Magic] Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Chris Argent, Malia Tate, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Cora Hale, Alan Deaton, Scott McCall, Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa McCall, original characters 
> 
> Notes: Stiles is abducted and subjected to a variety of trials in someone's attempt to determine how much of a magical spark he has inside of him. When he's rescued, he realises that he can't trust some of the people in his life. 
> 
> Warnings: Some vague descriptions of torture (but I tried to keep to a canon-level of discomfort), Deaton is evil, Scott believes Deaton is a good guy, Scott is a bad friend
> 
> A/N: This is written in snippets. I haven't been able to fill in the gaps. When I go back to this story, I pick up somewhere new and just start writing. I can see it all in my head, but I'm majorly blocked.

Snippet 01

Day twelve was no better than day eleven. The steel of his cage---because calling it a prison cell was generous---was still cold, its wheels---because they liked to keep them in their cages during transport to examination or testing suites---were still locked, and he was still trapped inside with no hope of escape. 

Stiles sighed and dipped his head down until his chin hit his chest---his bare chest, because after he tried to use his _favourite_ red plaid shirt to pull and warp some of the bars on his first cage they removed all his clothes except for his boxers. 

At first, he thought someone would notice he wasn't answering texts or calls. But, then, he remembered that they all thought he was on his way back to Virginia. He'd planned to take his time, to go easy on his jeep, and he knew they wouldn't expect to hear from him until he arrived. 

After the seventh day, he was afraid they wouldn't notice he was missing at all. 

The first few days were shiny and new and _terrifying_. Once he learned the routine, though, he'd been able to calm down enough to start looking for a way out of his cage, out of the facility, and back to his life. But, on the eighth day, there had been a familiar voice on the other side of the one-way glass panel in his testing room. 

It was ridiculous, to think that Deaton of all people would have staged a rescue, but he warped it to fit into his worldview by deciding that of all the people in their group, Deaton was the most likely to fit into the group of wackadoo scientists. Argent would have been a decent guard, but Deaton could gain their trust and get all of the victims out of the laboratory building. 

When no rescue was staged, Stiles didn't know what to think. Deaton was an ally. He wouldn't leave Stiles to rot… would he? 

Maybe he was gathering intel. Maybe the rescue was still coming. 

But, when the twelfth day started with no rescue in sight, Stiles felt his sense of hope abandon him. There was building a cover and then there was being involved, and Stiles suspected Deaton was the latter. 

It was his day. He never wanted it to be his day, but there were people in the other cages who had been there longer and who were in worse conditions than his so he figured he could do his turn and give one of them a break. 

His day started when the guards came to distribute breakfast---dry granola and a bottle of water---to the other prisoners. The person being taken never got to eat first. Stiles learned why on the first of his days when he was taken to a room and was repeatedly nearly-drowned. 

_"You can make it stop. All you have to do is reach inside of you and find the power."_

They hadn't even started talking yet and he could hear their words. They were burned into his mind. 

Two of the guards pulled his cage out of the long row of cages housing miserable teenagers and twenty-somethings and started pushing him towards one of the rooms. They passed the water room, the dirt room, and the air room---the rooms with the drowning pool, the coffin-less grave (or human-sized bin of dirt), and the room with industrial fans, respectively---and brought him into a room he'd yet to experience. 

When he was wheeled inside and positioned in front of all the implements, he realised it was the fire and lightning room. 

_Water, earth, air, and fire._

Stiles mentally cursed for not putting it together more quickly. 

The guards remained in the room, but Stiles ignored them. His mind, inefficient from fear and exhaustion and running at warp speed for so long, worked over the puzzle pieces he'd discovered during his stay. 

The rooms, so far, represented the four elements. That could be it, he reasoned, if they were sticking to classical rules, but if they were going to borrow from other cultures there could be more. Stiles had no idea how they'd test heaven or void or whatever-it's-called, and he really didn't want them to test metal on him because that sounded like it could be very _stabby_. 

With their words---phrases like _"all you have to do is reach inside of you and find the power"_ and then _"test subject's metaphysical reactions are not at optimal levels"_ \---added to the elements and the torture and the medical tests and sample extractions, and for one hysterical moment Stiles wondered if his life was an actual comic book and if he was in the base of operations for Weapon X's magical counterpart. 

Two scientist types entered the room, one woman and one man. Neither of them made eye contact with him, and Stiles preferred it that way. He didn't know what would come out of his mouth if they acknowledged he was a person; he didn't know if he'd shout obscenities and threats or beg for freedom and he'd prefer to save his energy. Judging by the contents of the room, he was going to need it to get through the tortuous tests. 

"Put the test subject on the rubber-lined table," the female scientist said. 

Stiles bit back a sigh. They were starting with electricity and he didn't know if that was better or worse. 

Snippet 02

As soon as the guards left the room of cages, Stiles' neighbour turned to him and whispered, "If they know, they'll take it from you." 

In all the time they'd been captured, Stiles had never heard any of the prisoners utter more than a whimper or a sob. He lifted his head. The young man---younger than Stiles in every way except in his eyes---was wearing grey hospital scrubs like so many of the others. There were smudges of dirt in his hairline, but they were faint; he'd probably been buried alive earlier in the week. 

"Why?" Stiles asked. 

"I don't know," he replied. "At first I thought the others were getting out, but now… I'm not so sure." 

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose?" Stiles asked. 

His neighbour frowned. "Not if they're taking it to become stronger." 

"But… isn't there supposed to be balance---" 

"Power's still power, if it's taken from one container and put into another." 

Stiles shivered. 

"Ignore it. Think of anything---or everything---important to you, use it to centre your power. Picture burying it down deep in the dirt. Whatever works for you. And no matter how hurt or how scared you are, don't let it out. Especially when the outsiders are here." 

Stiles frowned. "The outsiders?" 

"The people on the other side of the mirror." 

He was referring to Deaton and the other bland-faced directors of their torture, then. 

"How long have you been here?" Stiles asked. 

"I stopped counting the days after six months." 

Stiles didn't know if he'd be that coherent after six months. 

Instead of voicing his concerns on that particular matter, Stiles asked another question. "Why are you telling me this now?" 

"I can feel it, in you. Too much of a risk to tell someone who doesn't have it. They might talk just to make it stop---without knowing what's at stake." 

Stiles sighed. "But, now, it's in my best interest to keep my mouth shut, for as long as I can." 

"I'm sorry, but yes." 

Snippet 03

The scream was his first clue something was happening. 

The duet of roars was his second clue. 

In response, the guards started shouting and shooting. The few people left in their cages looked at each other; Stiles wanted to tell them to be calm, to wait to see his and their rescuers, but he didn't know who was going to come through the doors. What would the guards---and scientists and magicians-witches-whatevers---do when they realised someone was here to put a stop to what they were doing, if that was what was happening? 

Stiles couldn't move much, his body still healing from his time in the fire room, but he inched towards the back of his cage as best as he could. Several of the others followed his lead. 

Of all the people he'd imagined seeing burst into the room, Chris Argent was not even at the bottom of his list. Judging by the look of surprise on his face when he swept the room and landed on Stiles, the feeling was mutual. 

"Keys are on the wall. Lockbox," Stiles said. He blinked at the sound of how hoarse his voice had become; alternating between disuse and screams had not done him any favours. "Combo five-three-one-seven." 

"Is this all of you?" Chris asked. 

"We're all that's left," Stiles' neighbour said. "I can't feel the others anymore." 

He nodded. After punching in the code, he retrieved the keys and started on Stiles' cage first. He opened the two locks and opened the door. Stiles started crawling towards the opening but he didn't make progress until Chris put his hands on Stiles' arms and pulled him across the metal flooring. 

"How hurt are you?" 

"Burns. Chest and back… that's it." 

"Are the others---" 

"It was his day in the fire room last," Stiles' neighbour said. "We're not as hurt." 

"What the hell is---" 

"Explanations later, buddy," Stiles interrupted. He coughed twice and then put his feet down on the concrete. "Get the others free. Please." 

It took a few seconds of Chris staring at him before he nodded and acquiesced to Stiles' request. When he did start moving, though, he moved with the efficiency of a soldier on a mission. Stiles knew Chris was curious---hell, he was still curious and he'd been there for a few weeks---but he was able to compartmentalize and focus on what was most important. Watching Chris work to free the other prisoners, Stiles knew he'd never even think about how robotic or cold Chris could appear to be when in action. 

At the first whimper of fear, Stiles said, "He's a good guy. I promise. He's not one of the outsiders." 

"Outsiders?" Chris asked, as he moved onto another set of locks on another cage. 

"The people on the other side of the glass who watched and advised while we were tortured," Stiles explained. "Who is with you?" 

"Derek, Lydia, and Malia." 

"Oh, thank god, it worked," Stiles breathed. 

Snippet 04

When Chris' phone buzzed, they were almost to the exit. Stiles nudged Derek as he slowed his shuffle and stopped walking; the other test subjects followed his lead and eventually Malia and Lydia stopped, too. 

Chris checked the screen and nodded. "Scott, Liam, and Deaton are pulling up where we parked." 

Stiles flinched. He would have fallen, but Derek caught him, steadying him with his hands. 

"What is it?" Derek asked. 

"Deaton's one of the outsiders," Stiles whispered, hating that his voice started to tremble as he admitted the truth out loud. He looked at Chris. "I… I need to find out if Scott knew. Can you get the others out of here another way?" 

"You don't honestly think---" 

"I don't know what to think!" Stiles exclaimed. "I have been hurt and drowned and buried alive while a group of pseudo-scientists waited for me to do something amazing. I have heard Deaton's voice instructing them to try something else. I-I-I d-don't… I can't… it sounds _insane_ that he would. But, I need to know." 

Derek's hand tightened over his hip. "Okay. Okay. Lydia? Can you and Argent get the others out through the other exit we marked on the map?" he suggested. "Malia and I will take Stiles out the way we came in." 

Both Chris and Lydia nodded, but it was Chris who spoke next. "I'll circle around in case anything happens," he offered. "And we'll get everyone to safety once we get a better handle on the landscape." 

With that plan in place, Derek gently guided Stiles towards the exit. "C'mon," he said, his voice softer than usual. "Malia? Will you check---" 

"It's just them," she said. She pads towards the door and inhales deeply. "No wolfsbane." 

Derek's hand squeezed again. "You ready?" 

Stiles was _preeeeeetty_ sure he'd never been less ready in his life, but he pulled Derek's jacket around his shoulders and nodded. 

(06 Aug 2020: Please see the end notes for questions and a cry for help lol) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 06 Aug 2020   
> If anyone sees this (I have no idea if this will end up going to the top of the list or if it will be a notification for anyone who is subscribed or if it's just going to exist unnoticed in the depths of AO3), I'm going to ask some questions in an attempt to get my brain on a track I can follow. 
> 
> I've started trying to plot this out as a real story. But, I'm at a point where I'm like "and now what?!" 
> 
> A lot of my initial plot points are about getting my faves to a place outside the blast radius so they're safe when BH implodes because evil and idiotic people are running the show. I'm not sure what the evil and idiotic will be doing though. I'm toying with the idea of a big "ta da! the supernatural are real!" reveal, but I can't rationalise it. A reveal like that would wreck the secrecy they like to operate under... I can't figure out a way to make that make sense as a course of action. 
> 
> If I'm not going to go with the big reveal... I don't have a handle on their motives for what they did. Yes, magic is dying. That's a motivator. But... and then what? Do they want to make Beacon Hills an all-supernatural community? Why would Deaton try to bring a bunch of people into their magical powers? What is his big plan? Is he trying to control packs by putting one of "his" emissaries in each one? Is he trying to build a magical army? Is he trying to suck their powers out of them for his own big level-up? 
> 
> I have no idea. 
> 
> So. I'm sure I'll eventually figure this out... but I would not be opposed to hearing your thoughts on the matter. What do you think Deaton's end-game could be? Why do you think Scott would be on board with it? Any suggestions would be great. I might not go with your idea, specifically, but your thoughts might help shake mine into an order that makes sense.


	7. Teen Wolf/Jurassic World: There are Monsters in the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Derek Hale, Blue the Raptor, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Owen Grady, Original Male Character 
> 
> Notes: Social isolation means I've been watching a lot of movies. I revisited Jurassic Park and Jurassic World, and wondered what was going to happen to Blue… and then had this idea. I plan on it eventually being Sterek. 
> 
> Warnings: Canon level violence, dinosaurs, eventual werewolf!Stiles (it's in my notes for the rest of the story, and I think I'm going to stick with it)

Few people knew there were natural monsters in the world; everyone knew there were genetically-engineered monsters in the world.

Hunters were one thing. Dinosaurs were something completely different. 

It was a terrifying time to be alive. 

Derek sighed as he looked at a video on his phone. A family friend had reached out to him with news; a werewolf had been attacked by some sort of carnivore, causing panic for the supernatural community who'd had to act quickly in removing evidence. In the process, they'd uncovered a small pack that had decided to hunt the creatures down and put a stop to the insanity. Most of the pack was dead---the dinosaurs making quick work of them, encounter by encounter, despite their abilities---but the alpha was still on the hunt (or revenge) and he seemed to be in Derek's neck of the woods, according to the surveillance footage he'd been sent. 

The last thing he wanted was more people and technology in his territory---especially the sorts of people who had no qualms about experimenting on living beings. If they figured out he was other, he could become their next experiment. He would need to stop the alpha, somehow, and hope whatever dinosaur might be nearby would eventually move on to warmer and more arid pastures. 

Klamath National Forest was practically in his backyard. People camped there. It could not become a dinosaur's hunting grounds. 

But, he didn't want to be the one to try to tell a dinosaur that, either. 

While he'd grown up loving the idea of dinosaurs, like a lot of children did, the reality of them wasn't something Derek wanted to experience. Peter has gone to the theme park---of course, as any sort of status symbol appealed to him---but he hadn't stayed for his full itinerary. He said the place felt weird, in a faintly supernatural and indescribable way, and he unnecessarily warned Derek off of going to check it out for himself before he flounced off to his coastal beach house to work on his tan. 

Neither of them lived in Beacon Hills anymore. Peter visited occasionally, to see Malia, but he never did; they had no desire to return for good. Peter rationed his time between several properties around the world, taking to his man-of-both-means-and-leisure persona wholeheartedly, and Derek kept to his home base of a recently-acquired cabin in Northern California. He was isolated, but there was plenty of space to roam as a wolf in the national forests, and Cora had started visiting him more regularly once he'd distanced himself from Beacon County. 

She expected him to move even further away once he stopped feeling guilty for abandoning their family's territory. 

Derek thought about leaving---the state, the country---but wouldn't be ready until he figured out how he fit into the world. 

And he couldn't leave with a dinosaur nearing his temporary home. 

There weren't that many loose anymore. Some of those that had been sold were apprehended by authorities, and Derek had no idea where they were being kept. The last news report said a few were still at large. The tyrannosaurus had been apprehended; she was being kept (somehow) in the Nevada desert, far from many people, so she wasn't Derek's concern. The smaller carnivores were too cunning and left the remains of bodies in their wake. A few herbivores were wily enough to avoid detection---except in the swaths of missing vegetation as they ate enough to sustain themselves. 

And a handful were found dead. Some were dead by poisoning, caused by them eating things that were toxic to their systems. Some were dead by far more violent ends. 

Websites tracked the dinosaurs, making Derek's job easier and harder: easier, because he could cross-reference their findings with the information he'd received about the werewolves; harder, because there were mundane people out in the world who tried to experience dinosaur sightings in a firsthand way. He would have to be careful when tracking the alpha, who was tracking the test tube creature, so he didn't demonstrate to these dinosaur fans that there were other beings in the world who had sharp claws and teeth. 

An alpha was not his preferred prey. He'd embraced his beta status; he grew up believing he'd be a beta, and the alpha mantle had never fit him the way it should. He knew he'd handled it poorly and had no desire to take on that power again. He knew there was a good chance the alpha would kill him, too. They didn't have a pack, but they still had alpha power. There were risks all over his endeavour. 

But, he needed to try to protect the region. Werewolves hunting dinosaurs would not end well for anyone rooted in the supernatural world. 

###

In the forest, Derek was in his element. He didn't assume the alpha was at a disadvantage, though; the alpha probably spent a fair amount of time in the forest, because they were all drawn to the wilderness. But, Derek lived in an isolated area, surrounded by nature, and the alpha had spent a lot of time on the road. He had an advantage and he was going to use it. 

He stripped out of his clothes, put them in his parked truck, and shifted into a wolf. The world tilted, briefly, before it settled into something far more vibrant than when he was in his human form. He understood Peter's jealousy towards him and Malia, for accessing that transformation; he understood why his mother spent her time patrolling their territory as a wolf. Everything was intensified but less intense, all at the same time. His senses seemed to be able to filter the extraneous more easily; his senses seemed quicker to focus on what mattered. 

The alpha had been there. A dinosaur had been there, too, but there was no scent of blood yet. 

Derek still had time to try to save both of them. 

He took off at a lope, sticking to the shadows of bushes and grasses while weaving between trees. The scent of the alpha filled his nose; he was downwind from them and, hopefully, the dinosaur, but he had no way of knowing how skilled the other werewolf was at hunting and tracking prey. 

He was getting closer. The scent of anger and aggression mixed with anxiety could be scented on the air; chemosignals never drifted too far from their source. 

At the sound of an inhuman shriek and hiss, Derek applied more speed to his gait and galloped over a rising rock formation. He landed on the other side, his arrival hidden behind another, shorter rock, so he padded softly to the ledge and looked out at the confrontation. 

It was the velociraptor---Blue, he knew from the dinosaur websites---giving off the anxiety. Derek could see her unease in the lashing of her tail and the way she gulped in air through her mouth and flared nostrils at almost the same time. The werewolf was giving off the aggression and anger; he was posturing, growling, and snarling, and every time he took a step forward, Blue took a step backwards. 

She was a hunter. She was killer instincts, a sharp mind, and dangerous weapons rolled into one efficient package. He didn't understand why she was anxious. Werewolves shouldn't pose much threat to her. 

He lifted his head and sniffed, trying to figure out more before he acted.

_ Blood. _

_ Wolfsbane. _

As soon as he scented those substances he narrowed his gaze on the duo. The werewolf was uninjured. 

But, Blue had a knife in her flank, on her other side. The wound was almost black. 

That shouldn't be happening. Blue was a dinosaur---not a supernatural being. She shouldn't be affected by wolfsbane…

...unless there was something like therianthrope blood in her genetic cocktail. 

Was it possible?


	8. Teen Wolf AU: Coming in from the Cold (Heat) (Eventual Stiles/Derek/Allison/Kira)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, Kira Yukimura, mentions of Scott McCall, mentions of Alan Deaton
> 
> Notes: Inspired by _[The Mountains are Calling and I Must Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500779)_[ by Triangulum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500779). I never saw my love for this polyship forming until I read this story, and I started thinking about trying to write my own. So, basically: Kira comes back to Beacon Hills and finds it's a completely different place than she thought it would be. This is the first chunk I've written; I've started the second chunk. 
> 
> Warnings: threesome relationship, eventual foursome relationship, Scott is a crappy alpha (and a huge failwolf), Deaton is probably evil, may be a three-story series

Every day away from the desert was a comfort and a struggle. Kira didn't miss the sand and sweat and  _ chafing,  _ but she did miss how simple life had been. 

The Skinwalkers were about balance, like that between life and death or between control and chaos, and they never entertained something as human or as messy as emotions. She'd had to pack hers away into the corners of her mind as best as she could. As soon as she'd been released back into her world, the carefully constructed compartments she'd built in her mind had crumbled, and she felt lost in a sea of thoughts and feelings she hadn't entertained in (what must have been) years. 

If it hadn't been for Stiles, of all people, showing up on the side of the deserted highway, she figured she'd still be out in the barren landscape, sobbing and screaming. 

_ "The Nemeton told me you're free," _ he'd said, before pulling her into his arms for a hug that lasted forever (but not long enough). 

His embrace, surprising but not unwelcome, had been the first _welcome_ soft touch she'd experienced since accepting the tutelage of the Skinwalkers—but it was not the last. Once back in Beacon Hills, she'd found herself bundled into more hugs, first Allison and then Derek and then Stiles again, before being ushered through Derek's house to a large bathroom where Allison drew her a bath. 

They'd pieced her together. They were still piecing her together, weeks after she'd returned. When she called her parents, they sat with her and breathed with her as she explained that she would not be returning to New York; when she woke up gasping for breath (or worse), one if not all of them joined her in bed and guarded her from more nightmares. They helped reintegrate her back into society, easing her back into being surrounded by people instead of preternatural huntresses. They reminded her how to smile and laugh. 

She was a work-in-progress, but they never begrudged her for her difficulties. 

_ "We all needed help at times,"  _ Allison had said, as Derek settled down at Kira's side on the porch's bench one autumn night, a month after her return.  _ "You're one of us. We won't abandon you."  _

She had been surprised. She and Allison had never been particularly close, because they'd only really had Scott in common, before her departure. Beacon Hills and the people in it had grown and changed in the years she'd been away. 

Looking at her single tail, it was even harder to ignore how everything had changed. 

The pack was nothing like what she'd remembered---or expected. When Stiles brought her back to Beacon Hills, she thought she'd be greeted by Scott, as alpha, as well as everyone else who had been in the pack. Instead, Derek flashed red eyes at her once, briefly, and said Scott, Liam, Mason, Malia, and Lydia had all gone their separate ways (for school and travel), and he, Stiles, and Allison remained to guard the territory. 

_ "It's our choice,"  _ Stiles told her.  _ "Sure, it would've been nice to be asked, but we feel the pull of the land more than the others." _

Derek, upon being asked about his alpha status, simply shrugged and said,  _ "Things happened. We can talk about it when you've recovered." _

She didn't understand. She knew she'd changed, so it made sense that everyone else changed… but… 

Her black tail shone up at her, proving that they'd all changed more than she expected. 

Since she'd returned from the McCall residence, she'd been alone in the house—another change, because Derek no longer lived in the loft and because Stiles and Allison lived in the house, too. But, the sound of soft and steady footsteps approaching her was enough to tell her she was no longer alone. That sound also told her she lost track of her surroundings, but she couldn't make herself feel too badly about that when she saw Derek sit down next to her on the sofa. 

"What's up?" he asked. "I called out for you… didn't hear me?"

Kira shook her head and looked away from her tail. "No, sorry," she murmured. 

His hand settled on her shoulder and squeezed gently. On impulse, she tilted her head so she could rub her cheek against his knuckles. 

"What happened?" he asked. 

"I… I went and got my tail," she admitted. 

"Where was it?"

Kira lifted her head and looked at Derek. "Sitting on a bookshelf in Scott's childhood bedroom," she muttered. 

As if he understood, Derek's eyes softened and widened. He sighed and guided her into his body for a hug; it was odd to her, to have to reconcile the tactile and affectionate version of Derek with the memories of him in her past, but the embrace and Derek's proffered comfort were so welcome that Kira only closed her eyes and hugged him in return. 

"He didn't even try to hide it," Kira whispered. "My power—what little I have—was just sitting out in the open for anyone to take! I trusted him to protect it! And he took that trust and threw it away. He didn't value me… he didn't care… I know I'm not—or that we're not together, but surely, I thought he knew how important it is that my tail stays safe. Anyone could have touched it or broken it or stolen it…" 

Tears finally slipped from her eyes. Derek hummed quietly, and the sound soothed her; she let him rock her back and forth and rub his hands over her back. Her thoughts had been rattling around in her head since she left Scott's childhood bedroom and Derek's presence was finally helping to calm them. 

"We have a safe place here, in the house," Derek murmured. "If you trust us."

Kira pulled back just enough to look at him. He smiled at her and kept talking. 

"Allison found some mystical lock boxes in her family's collections. Stiles checked them out. One just needs a bit of your blood on the lock, and then no one can open it. We can keep it in Stiles' secret library here," he explained. "But, only if you're comfortable with that. I'd say you could use the vault---and you absolutely can---but Peter still blows through town every once and a while. Malia probably wouldn't touch it. I doubt she's ever gone back to the vault. But Peter's in there at least once a visit."

Kira grimaced at the idea of Peter putting his hands on her tail. In another display of open understanding, Derek offered her another small smile. 

"I can show you the room, if you want?" 

She nodded. Derek eased off the sofa and reached for her hand. Kira followed him willingly, pausing only to grab her tail off of the coffee table. When Derek kept his hand around hers, she smiled to herself. 

In the beginning, when she'd discovered werewolves and kitsunes were real (and that she was the latter), the pack hadn't been very close in a physical sense. Platonic nudges and back-slaps were all she'd witnessed and experienced; romantic couples had been a bit closer. Joining the Skinwalkers had been eye opening on several levels, physical contact being one of them. She'd expected a loss in contact after Stiles found her in the desert; however, he'd surprised her by keeping her close the whole drive back to Beacon Hills and Allison and Derek continued to surprise her when they held her close at every opportunity. She saw them in varying degrees of close contact, too, almost any time they were all together. Whatever their situation, they were cementing their bonds with as much contact as possible. 

Derek brought her into the library, where Stiles' preferences were obvious. She smiled at the whiteboards, corkboards, markers, and string; she chuckled when she saw the small coffee maker next to the desktop computer. 

"We haven't had much trouble lately, but sometimes he can't sleep and he just… goes on a research bender," Derek explained, smiling a little. He guided her towards a wall of shelves and gestured at a small figurine of Doctor Strange. "It's a little on the nose, but… Stiles." 

He pulled and twisted the figurine's base; the bookcase eased away from the wall and revealed another space. 

Kira smiled. "It's perfect," she breathed, scenting magic and  _ Stiles _ on the air. 

"It's not on the plans," Derek said after a smile of his own. "Nobody will find out about it. We keep the rare and valuable books here. Some of my family's rarities I can't trust with Peter or Malia. And some of Allison's weapons. Anything we want to keep hidden from anyone who isn't pack. We'd be honoured if you'd choose to store your tail here." 

"Scott---" 

Derek interjected in a quiet voice. "He'll never have access to this room," he promised. 

Kira didn't understand---but there was a lot she realised she didn't understand, as soon as she'd been welcomed back into Beacon Hills by the trio who had stepped up and become her support system. 

"Hang onto it until later, when Stiles and Allison come home from work," Derek advised. "We've been putting off telling you everything, but I think… it's probably time to answer some of your questions." 

After a wrinkle of her nose, Kira nodded. 

Derek gently guided her out of the secret space and eased the bookcase back into place. Because she was listening more closely, because she was more focused on the secret, she could hear a couple mechanisms locking into place. After the locks clicked, she felt the loss of magic and she frowned. She missed the reminder of Stiles as soon as it disappeared. 

"Come on," Derek urged, motioning towards the door to the hallway. "You can help me in the garden, if you want. We check to see if the tomatoes are ready." 

There was always something to do and Kira appreciated that. Whenever her head felt full, one of them was there to simplify at least one thing she'd been pondering and to pull her away from deep thought and overanalysis. Gardening was just physical enough to distract her mind; the fact that it felt like contributing to the household was an added bonus. 


End file.
